


One (Singular Sensation)

by RoseFyre



Series: Hunger Games Soulmate Fics [17]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 62nd hunger games, 63rd Hunger Games, 65th Hunger Games, 66th Hunger Games, 70th Hunger Games, 74th Hunger Games, 75th Hunger Games, Ableism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Everlark - Freeform, Background Relationships, Dubious Consent, Dyslexia, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Incest, Hunger Games, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Incest, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Murder, Quarter Quell (Hunger Games), Rape, Rebellion, Revolution, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, The Revolution Will Be Televised, background finnick/annie, background gloss/OC, background prim/peeta's brother, dyslexic character, lots of death, medium character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 57,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29552100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre
Summary: Cashmere Dubois has the most unique soulmark anyone has ever seen: it changes color every year. What does this mean? Who's her soulmate? And just how much is it going to impact her life?
Relationships: Cashmere & Finnick Odair, Cashmere & Gloss (Hunger Games), Cashmere & Johanna Mason, Cashmere & Peeta Mellark's Brothers, Cashmere & Primrose Everdeen, Cashmere/Caesar Flickerman
Series: Hunger Games Soulmate Fics [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/345536
Comments: 122
Kudos: 26





	1. Not One of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Words of Revolution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993737) by [FanficAllergy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy), [RoseFyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseFyre/pseuds/RoseFyre). 



> Disclaimer: The Hunger Games Trilogy is property of Suzanne Collins. This is a parody fanwork by fans for fans. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.
> 
> This is a side story to Words of Revolution, found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993737

**oOo**

One twin is born with a soulmark. One isn’t. 

Purple words wrap around Cashmere Dubois’s upper arm, stark against the pale pink-gold of her skin -- a marked contrast to Gloss’s unmarked flesh. In almost every other way they are identical, as identical as a boy and girl can be. But in that one they are different.

The words don’t stay purple for long. 

A few weeks before the twins turn one, the purple changes. But instead of turning gray as a soulmark does when a soulmate dies, it morphs into a dark amber. Their parents frown at each other and try not to worry. Maybe they misremembered? Maybe the words were dark amber all along? They almost manage to convince themselves.

Almost.

At just under two years, the words turn light green. This time, Cashmere’s parents can’t write it off as misremembering. Their daughter’s soulmark is changing color. They search everywhere for an answer, ask anyone they can. But they don’t find one.

At just under three years, the words turn pure cobalt blue, a bright mark on their daughter’s upper arm. It glares at them. Haunts them. Cashmere’s father picks up a brochure and holds it out to his wife, asking an unvoiced question. She nods.

By the time the twins’ fourth birthday approaches, their parents await the annual changing of Cashmere’s soulmark with barely-concealed dread. What color will it be this year?

They don’t say it aloud, but both of them are glad Gloss doesn’t have a soulmark. One odd child is more than enough. 

A week before Cashmere’s fourth birthday, her words turn crimson red. Her soulmark appears to be made of blood. 

Sometimes her parents think it truly is. 

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic exploded! And when I say exploded, I mean exploded.
> 
> Yeah, I, uh, didn't mean to write something this long. But it's what wanted to be written, so, yay?
> 
> A very happy birthday to FanficAllergy!


	2. The Young Ones

**oOo**

When the twins are four and a half, their parents sit them down and tell Cashmere that after Reaping Day, she’ll be going to school at the Tribute Training Center. Gloss will attend one of District One’s normal schools.

“But why?” Cashmere asks, clutching her brother’s hand. “I wanna be with Gloss!”

“An’ I wanna be with Cash!”

Their parents exchange a look. Cashmere can’t read it. “We just think it would be best, that’s all.”

The twins try to protest, but their parents’ minds are made up, and no amount of whining, crying, pleading, or yelling budges them one inch. Cashmere offers to go to the regular school; Gloss offers to go to the Tribute Training Center. Their parents say no to both before telling them very firmly that the conversation is over.

Late that night, Cashmere sneaks into Gloss’s bed. “I’ll teach you everything,” she says. “Everything I learn.”

“Me too,” Gloss agrees. His fingers twine through her curls, and Cashmere lets herself fall asleep, cradled in the security he offers.

**oOo**

The dormitories at the Tribute Training Center are teeming with people. Hundreds of people, even thousands.

But not the one she wants.

Cashmere misses her brother. Her twin. Her other half.

She kind of misses her parents and her little brother Polish, but only kind of. Gloss, though… Gloss she misses with a feeling like half her heart’s been torn away.

And yet, somehow, she thrives. She’s good at the stuff they teach the little kids -- using a knife, setting traps, wrestling. Dancing, dress, deportment. She’s not quite as good at reading, writing, and arithmetic, but the school spends much less time on those, so it’s okay. 

When the first kid in her year is kicked out, a boy who refuses to run no matter what the teachers do to him, she stays, even if part of her wants to beg to go home. But the truth is, she likes the school. The only thing she misses is Gloss. If he were here with her, it’d be perfect.

In early July, a few weeks after Cashmere’s fifth birthday -- her words are silver this year, already exclaimed over by a few of her classmates for how pretty they are -- there’s a ceremony for District One to welcome their newest Victor, an eighteen-year-old named Shiny who won by slitting the throat of the boy from Four. School only started after the Reaping, so Cashmere’s never met her, but the older kids talk excitedly amongst themselves. Few of them mention this year’s male Tribute, even though he made it to the Final Eight before the Career Pack turned on itself.

Cashmere can’t remember his name.

The kids from the Tribute Training Center stand in neat rows, their uniforms pressed and polished, and Cashmere finds herself staring at the other kids. The normal kids. They’re in a gaggle, not a formation, and they’re much louder and less controlled than the Tribute Training Center kids. Gloss is in the midst of it all, surrounded by boys. Cashmere’s heart pangs.

He must feel her staring, because he looks directly at her, their eyes drawn to one another across all that distance.

Then he blows her a kiss.

When the ceremony is over, she tries to stay behind. She hasn’t spoken to her brother in over a month. She wants to see him. But she’s lined up with the other kids and taken back to the Center.

She could drop out, leave, return home. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend to be bad. She seriously considers it. But there’s still so much to learn, and she wants to learn it all. Besides, she promised to teach it all to Gloss.

**oOo**

The kids are sent home to their families for a week right after the Victory Tour. It’s the winter holiday, some last remnant of the world before Panem.

Gloss greets her with a hug, which she returns just as fervently. “I missed you.” She isn’t sure which of them says it. Maybe both.

They’ve got a week at home, and Cashmere does her best to show Gloss everything she’s learning. He’s good at wrestling, maybe even better than her, but he can’t walk across a room balancing books on his head the way she can. He teaches her about all the luxury goods District One produces and helps her with her math. The normal school has math classes every day; the Tribute Training Center only has them twice a week. So Gloss is much better at adding than she is. Numbers are easier than letters, though, and she quickly improves under his tutelage. 

He’s also gotten better at lace-making, while she hasn’t. It’s the family business, and he’s been learning after school. Cashmere doesn’t miss the fidgety work, and she doesn’t like the way her mother yells at her when she messes up. She tries for one day when she’s home then gives up.

Part of Cashmere wishes she could learn with Gloss, but she doesn’t want to go to the normal school. She’d have to spend more time on reading and writing, which doesn’t sound nearly as fun as wrestling or deportment, and she’d probably have to go back to making lace every day. That would be miserable. Anyway, she likes where she is. 

More of her wishes he could join her, but their parents still won’t hear of it. Besides, it’s too late. No one ever joins the Tribute Training Center after intake. They only leave. Seven kids have already left from her year, and the teachers say lots more will go every year, even faster once they’re older. Cashmere believes them. There are almost five hundred kids her age at the school. But there are only seventeen kids in their final year.

There were forty-one when the year began.

Ignored by their parents -- now busy with Cashmere’s baby sister Angora, who she just met for the very first time -- Cashmere just teaches Gloss as much as she can and makes him promise to keep practicing once they’re apart again. He does the same for her.

**oOo**

When Cashmere is nine and home for the winter holiday, Gloss frowns at her soulmark -- for once not fully covered by her Training Center uniform. This year it’s a very ugly orange which Cashmere can’t wait to get rid of. Maybe next year it’ll be something nice again. Like pink, or yellow, or blue. Even brown or black would be better than _orange_.

The TV is on, playing a rerun of the 53rd Hunger Games. “Cash,” Gloss says slowly, shoving up her sleeve so he can see the orange words on her arm. She self-consciously covers them up, but he pulls her hand down and lifts her sleeve again. “Have you ever looked at this?”

“No.” She can hear the defensive tone in her voice. “We’re not supposed to think about soulmarks. The Capitol doesn’t like them. And it’s weird anyway. No one’s ever had a soulmark that changed color.” She’d asked her teacher in their one lesson on soulmarks. The answer had not been reassuring. So she’d started hiding them even more. If she wasn’t in uniform, she found shirts that covered her to her elbows. A few of the teachers had seen them, and the girls while changing, but after that lesson everyone pretended they didn’t exist. Hopefully some of them have even forgotten.

And no, she hasn’t read them. The thing is, reading is hard. The letters always seem to squirm around, and moving her arm just makes her soulmark worse. She’s tried a couple of times but never gotten very far, before she gave up after learning the Capitol’s views on soulmarks. If she doesn’t know what it says, she can pretend she doesn’t recognize her soulmate, right?

“Don’t you want to know? So you’ll know when you meet them.”

Part of her does. Most of her doesn’t. She shrugs. “Not really?”

Gloss glances at the TV then back at her. “I think you need to.” He holds her arm up so she can see her soulmark. “Come on. Read it.”

In halting words, she sounds out the syllables, trying to make the letters stop squirming. It’s a little easier with him supporting her arm; there’s only the internal movement and not the external. “Cashmere Du… Du-bois form--”

“From.”

“--District One! What a please-your--”

“Pleasure.”

“--pleasure to meet you. I’m told it’s your birth, birthday,” she pauses before pushing onward, “and I w-wanted to be the first to wish one of the most cape-ti-vate-ing--”

“Captivating.”

Cashmere glares at her brother. “--captivating young women I’ve came, come across a mag-ni-fi-kent--” Gloss opens his mouth, and Cashmere hurries through the last word before he can correct her again “--birthday.” She knows she’s not very good at reading. But they don’t study it much at the Tribute Training Center -- only three days a week for an hour at a time. They have much more important things to learn. Telling herself that sometimes makes her feel better about the way everyone else is better at reading than she is, even with so little instruction. She lets her arm drop and covers her soulmark with her hand again. “What about it?”

Gloss is watching the TV again. The rerun is playing the final interview, with Caesar Flickerman talking to the newest Victor, Wiress from District Three.

He’s wearing his usual twinkling midnight blue suit, but his hair, his eyelids, and his lips are all orange. The color clashes terribly.

It’s also the exact same color as her soulmark.

_Huh._

Cashmere closes her eyes and tries to picture Caesar Flickerman at his interview with Brutus last year. His hair had been...pink? No, fuchsia.

Her soulmark had been fuchsia too.

She doesn’t like the pattern she’s starting to see.

She thinks over the words. At some point she’ll be somewhere with someone who will call her ‘Cashmere Dubois from District One’ -- not just Cashmere Dubois, but identifying her district. No one in One would do that, there’d be no reason. And their birthday -- it’s less than a week after Reaping Day. 

The day Caesar Flickerman always interviews the tributes.

Gloss is still mostly watching the TV, but he’s got the corner of his eye on her. “We don’t learn about soulmarks at school either. But Velvet said he heard from his brother that soulmarks are in the other person’s favorite color. Maybe…” 

Even though he trails off without saying the words, Cashmere can finish the sentence herself. Maybe her soulmark changes because her soulmate’s favorite color changes.

Maybe Caesar Flickerman is her soulmate.

A part of her shrugs. Even if he is, what does it matter? She’s in the Tribute Training Center, and if she makes it through, she could end up in the Games. It doesn’t matter if she meets her soulmate before, after, or during the Games.

Another part of her grimaces. Caesar Flickerman is _old_. He’s been hosting the Hunger Games for like twenty years. Sure, he doesn’t look old, but…

A third part of her is a little swept up in the romance of it all. A Capitolite as a soulmate! Maybe he’ll buy her pretty things and treat her to nice presents -- after she wins the Games, of course.

“What does it matter?” she says aloud. “The Capitol doesn’t like soulmarks. So as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter.” When Gloss opens his mouth, probably to argue, she cuts him off with a raised hand. “I promised to show you knife throwing. You still want to practice?”

Of course he does.

_There_ , she thinks, satisfied. _Done with that stupid conversation_.

**oOo**


	3. I Am the One Who Will Remember Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter fits the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" warning. It also deals in serious ableism. If you want more specific warnings, please scroll to the notes at the endnotes.

**oOo**

By the time Cashmere is thirteen, there’s less than three hundred students left in her year, and she’s top of her class in all of the presentation lessons. Unfortunately, she’s barely in the top third in combat. 

She used to be ranked higher, but then her body decided to be stupid and start growing breasts. Her balance is all off; she’s having to relearn how to do everything.

It sucks.

On the positive side, Cashmere has now had lessons in applying makeup. So she can wear tank tops and strapless dresses again, as long as she covers her soulmark. Which she always does -- the one positive thing she can say about breasts is they look damn good in strapless dresses. Boys like her. Even some girls like her. It’s a lot of fun to practice kissing and flirting.

Of course, there are rules in the Tribute Training Center about relationships. You can date, you can kiss, you can even touch, but anyone who loses their virginity gets kicked out. It hasn’t happened to anyone in Cashmere’s class yet -- they’re all twelve or thirteen after all -- but it happened to a couple of sixteen-year-olds in May. Ruby and Sheen really should have known better.

Sometimes Cashmere wonders if maybe she knows a little too much about things like sex, but the older kids aren’t shy about telling them stuff, and the teachers don’t try to stop them. It’s just the way the Training Center is.

Gloss is growing apart from her. She only sees him a few times a year, mostly for a day at a time. Their parents are proud of their oldest son -- top of his class at math, star of the wrestling team, and getting ever better at the family business of lace-making to boot.

They mostly ignore her.

If her soulmark does mean she’s going into the Games, maybe it makes sense. Maybe they tried not to care about a child who might die before she’s twenty.

Maybe they didn’t have to try.

Their family is complete: their parents, Gloss, and the four younger children -- Polish, Angora, Radiance, and Silk. Well, and her mother’s pregnancy. There’s no place for her. Cashmere barely knows the kids, and they don’t see her as a sister. Only Gloss still cares about her, and to him she’s one of many concerns, no longer the most important.

But that’s okay. She has the Training Center, after all. That’s her family now.

**oOo**

When Cashmere is fourteen, she makes her first kill.

It’s not a human, just a pig that’s going to be turned into the Tribute Training Center’s dinner. And since she kills it, she’ll get the best piece.

It’s bloody and messy and gross, but she does it -- uses a hammer to stun the pig then a knife to slit its throat. It’s dead in minutes, and she leads the twelves and thirteens through the butchering process. One girl can’t stop weeping until she’s pulled away by the teachers, while a boy vomits so long he has to be taken to the Infirmary.

Cashmere knows she won’t see either of those kids again; they’ll be kicked out of the program and sent back to their families and the regular schools. It happened to one of her closest friends last year.

Of course, closest friend is a bit of a misnomer in the Tribute Training Center. Everyone knows they’re competition -- only one girl and one boy can go to the Games each year, and once there only one can live; they may even have to kill each other. So you’re competing against your own age and gender to get in and your own age and the opposite gender to get out. Cashmere had liked Mocha well enough, but they’d never exactly been close.

Cashmere shrugs internally. If you can’t deal with blood or killing, you can’t be in the Games. And of course you can’t stay in the Tribute Training Center if you’re not going to the Games -- what would be the point? District One would never allow someone so weak to be its Tribute. That’s for lesser districts.

More kids leave this year than any previous. Actually killing something, even an animal, is a step too far for a lot of them.

By the time Cashmere is fifteen -- her soulmark shining the color of burnished copper before she covers it with makeup every morning -- her class is down to under a hundred.

**oOo**

As far as Cashmere is aware, she’s the only seventeen-year-old in the Tribute Training Center with a soulmark. She could be wrong; others could be hiding marks the same as she is. But District One has always had one of the lowest instances of soulmarks in all of Panem.

Which is why it’s shocking that so many of the younger kids have soulmarks. This year, more than half of the five-year-olds have them.

Cashmere isn’t sure what to think of that.

So instead she tries not to. She’s consistently competing with two other girls in her class for the top spot. She’s best at presentation. Luminescence is best at all-around combat and survival and very good at presentation, but Cocoa is so good with a sword that she stands out despite her middle-of-the-road presentation and survival scores. Cashmere is fourth best at survival and third best at combat, but her excellent presentation balances it out. And they’re all miles above the boys. Heck, the fourth, fifth, and sixth best girls are better than all of the boys in their year, while the next four are at least as good.

It’s the opposite in the year above them. The boys are extraordinary while the girls really aren’t. There’s only four girls left, too, after the regular December culling and those who left after.

In April, the three of them are called to Onyx’s office -- the Victor of the 34th Hunger Games is the head of the Tribute Training Center. The man, still handsome for all he’s in his mid-forties, gestures for them to sit in the chairs facing his desk. “I’m sure you’re aware of the skill levels of yourselves and the eighteen-year-olds.”

Cashmere, Luminescence, and Cocoa all nod.

“I have a dilemma. All three of you could be excellent Tributes. Right now we don’t have a good candidate among the eighteen-year-old girls. I would like to send one of you this year and one next year. But I cannot do that unless you pass the final test.”

Cashmere has heard rumors of the final test. Held in December, it’s the reason the ranks of the eighteen-year-olds are always so decimated by the time the Victory Tour starts, and the reason the ones who stay stand a little differently once it’s done. She doesn’t know the details. But she knows an average of twenty-five eighteen-year-olds leave every December, returning to some form of normal life. And another five or so don’t come back after the winter holiday or leave in late winter.

She’s pretty sure it involves killing someone. A human.

After all, they’ve all killed multiple animals, starting with the pigs when they were fourteen. So that can’t be it. And what else could it be? One’s tributes never struggle in the Arena. They never hesitate to kill. How could they, if they’ve done it before? The ones who leave in the winter could do it but can’t handle it -- Cashmere’s seen the eighteen-year-olds struggle all January.

She doesn’t say any of this aloud. Instead she puts on her best innocent-yet-sexy face and blinks her wide blue eyes at Onyx. “Can we do the test now?”

Even he, Victor that he is, is affected by that face. He looks at her the way One’s Mayor looks at his much younger third wife before catching himself and giving her a wry smile. “That was my proposal.”

She blinks again. “Oh good.”

**oOo**

Cashmere was right. 

The test is killing someone. A burden on the district, someone who will never be able to work. 

A child.

Cashmere’s is a fourteen-year-old who she recognizes, a boy who lost an arm in a training accident in January. As far as Cashmere was aware, the boy was sent home. But apparently not. 

Or maybe he was but his parents abandoned him.

Luminescence has a thirteen-year-old boy, Cocoa a fifteen-year-old girl. The girl got meningitis and has gone completely deaf, while the boy is intellectually disabled.

Each of them is placed in an observable room with their intended victim. They’re given knives -- for a close kill -- and told either their opponent dies or they’re going home.

Cashmere hesitates at the door. It’s clear the boy has no idea why she’s here. He’s just in awe of her the way so many of the younger boys are.

  
She can use that. She _will_ use that.

It’s for the good of the district.

It’s for the good of Panem.

If she’s going to kill kids in the Hunger Games, she had better get used to it now.

This kid doesn’t deserve to die. But Cashmere is going to kill him anyway.

“Hi,” the boy says. He blushes and glances away from her.

“Hi,” she says back. She sits down next to him, keeping her knife hidden in the folds of her skirt. “How are you--” she dredges his name up from the depths of her memory “--Plastic?”

His cheeks flush an even brighter red. “I, I’m good, I mean, I’m okay, I--”

The knife sinks straight into his heart.

He stares at her, his mouth wide with shock, as the light fades from his eyes. She watches every second. This boy is her kill. She needs to see it. And she owes him that much dignity.

Once he’s all the way dead, Cashmere pulls out her knife and cleans it on his shirt. Then she exits the room, head held high.

Cocoa nonchalantly leans against the wall next to her room, her freshly-cleaned knife cradled in her hands. Cashmere echoes her pose.

Luminescence hasn’t come out yet. 

Cashmere looks at the clock, then at the door to Luminescence’s room. There’s a sound coming from behind it. Something like… weeping? She exchanges a glance with Cocoa, wondering if her not-quite-friend hears the same thing.

She didn’t like killing the kid. But that’s what the Games are. If Luminescence can’t do this…

Luminescence stumbles out of the room, her knife left behind. There’s the sound of music coming from behind it; the boy is still alive and happily humming to himself. Her eyes are red and weeping.

As the teachers take Luminescence away, Onyx comes to stand by Cashmere and Cocoa. “Congratulations,” he says. “If you're still here in another month or so, you’ll both be going into the Arena.”

**oOo**

Both of them are. Cashmere forces back the nightmares. She’s doing this for the good of District One. She _will_ be a Victor. She doesn’t know what’s going on in Cocoa’s head, but they’re both still there over a month later when the tributes are picked.

The teachers decide Cocoa needs more time to work on presentation and survival, while Cashmere’s combat and survival skills are good enough.  
  


She’s going in this year.

Two weeks before she volunteers, her soulmark turns from aqua to a pale pale pink. Good. It’ll be easier to hide in the Arena if it at least somewhat blends into her skin. Besides, pale pink has always been one of her favorite colors. Possibly her most favorite.

She wonders how Caesar Flickerman will look all in pink.

  
**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warnings: This chapter depicts Cashmere killing a disabled (and therefore considered useless) child as a test for her ability to go into the Hunger Games. The killing is very up close and personal. It's also implied that this is what District One does with disabled children in general.
> 
> It also includes the semi-visceral killing of a pig.
> 
> The Hunger Games is not a nice universe, unfortunately.


	4. I’m Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: from here on out, there will be mentions/descriptions of Hunger Games and what's done to Victors. Therefore, the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" and "Rape/Non-Con" warnings are constantly in play. I'm not going to warn on every chapter, so just be aware they may be showing up from now on.

**oOo**

After Cashmere volunteers, she sits in a room in the Justice Building and waits to see who will come say goodbye to her. 

Cocoa is first, followed by her other almost-friends from the Training Center, accompanied by their teachers. None of them have much to say.

And that’s it for friends. Sure, she had a few other almost-friends -- Mocha comes to mind, years later -- but she hasn’t kept in touch with any of them.

Next is family. Her parents, Polish, Angora, Radiance, Silk, and Brilliance look at her like she’s a stranger. Considering she’s spent a grand total of less than six months at her parents’ house since she was not-quite-five, that’s not a surprise. She barely knows her youngest siblings. With quick “Good luck”s, her blood family exits.

That leaves Gloss.

He sits down next to her on the loveseat. No one else has. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Do your best in there? I don’t want to lose a sister.”

_You already have_ , she thinks. “I will. I promise.” It’s an easy promise to make; she doesn’t want to die.

“Good.” He kisses her on the forehead and leaves before the Peacekeepers can tell him his time’s up.

**oOo**

_Gloss was right_ , she thinks when it’s confirmed that the interviews are going to be on her eighteenth birthday. _Fuck_.

She’s not sure what to do with that knowledge. She has to respond to Caesar Flickerman; she can’t spend her interview stony-faced and silent. Presentation was always her strong suit, so if she presents badly now, that’s a problem for both her image and her chances of survival.

She has two choices.

One, she could say something immensely forgettable. ‘Thank you’ maybe. Or ‘Hello.’ Say it quickly, wait for Caesar Flickerman to say something else, and hope he doesn't realize.

Two, she could say something immensely memorable and hope he _does_ realize.

She sighs as she lies on the table and lets the stylists work on her. It’s a hard choice. She’s not sure which way to go.

**oOo**

A few days later, she still isn’t sure which way to go.

Which is unfortunate, given that she’s waiting for the interviews to start. And her stylist put her in a dress which is the exact shade of her soulmark. The stylist has seen it, of course -- she was naked and un-made-up on his table just a few days ago. But she’s kept it covered since, so hopefully no one else realizes.

Ladies first, as District One’s escort says every year -- Cashmere’s the first one center stage. She flashes a winning smile at the audience then turns to Caesar Flickerman with a flirtatious look.

He’s older than her, a lot older, but he doesn’t look it. The pale pale pink looks surprisingly good on him. He’s able to pull it off in a way she wouldn't have expected.

He beams at her and leans in. “Cashmere Dubois from District One! What a pleasure to meet you. I’m told it’s your birthday, and I wanted to be the first to wish one of the most captivating young women I’ve come across a magnificent birthday.”

It’s the moment of decision.

“Why thank you, Caesar. It’s been a truly magnificent birthday so far, and I think tonight will be even better. After all, I’m so honored to be spending my eighteenth birthday getting interviewed by you.” She angles herself to catch the cameras and inwardly grins when the audience swoons.

His eyes widen the merest amount. Just enough that she can see it -- but no one else will. Probably not even the cameras. “Trust me,” he says. “The honor is all mine.”

She goes on to talk about her strategy for the Games -- remaining vague, of course, it wouldn’t do to give everything away -- and her score of ten, tied with the boy from Two for the highest score this year. Three minutes go by all too quickly. Caesar hears the bell and ends with, “I look forward to talking with you in the future.”

Cashmere leans in. “Me too.” And then she has to return to her seat and make way for Caviar, her district partner.

Caesar’s eyes follow her all the way back to her seat.

**oOo**

She doesn’t see him before the Games start.

Unsurprising, really. There just isn’t enough time, and there’s no way for her to sneak off to meet her soulmate.

Cashmere puts it out of her mind. What’s done is done. Either she’ll survive or she won’t. If she doesn’t, it won’t matter. If she does, she’ll see him again. Right now, she has to concentrate on the Games.

The Games are… 

The Games.

She can’t think about them. Just goes through thinking as little as possible. _Look good for the cameras. Show them what they expect. And above all, don’t die._

Cashmere doesn’t particularly enjoy killing, but it’s her or them, and she’s determined to get out alive. By the time the Games are over, she’s killed the boy from District Twelve, the girl from District Nine, the boy from District Six, the boy from District Two, and the girl from District Four.

Plus the boy in her final test.

She tries to keep them separate, think of them as numbers. It doesn’t work. Their names run through her mind. _Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle._ Sometimes she wakes up screaming their names.

At least she’s done with the Games now. At least she’ll never have to kill anyone else ever again.

The Victory Ceremony goes as well as can be expected. She sees her soulmate again, but everything is so public. They fill their roles -- now they know there will be time to talk later -- and then turn to the screens. She has all the expected reactions when watching the three hour highlights. President Snow seems pleased when he places the crown on her head. The Victory Banquet is a rush of people, and Cashmere does her best to stay in character. She’s the flirty sexy-but-innocent Victor from District One. 

She is. She has to be.

Caesar comes to District One’s floor for the final interview. Just like last night, she’s again dressed in that same pale pink. From what her stylist has been saying, it may become her signature color.

At least she didn’t win in the year her soulmark was _orange_.

Caesar holds out a hand to her. “Congratulations, Cashmere. How are you faring?”

She takes it. “As well as can be expected.”

There’s too many people to have a private conversation -- what does he want from her anyway? -- so she simply squeezes his hand once and goes to the chair meant for her.

**oOo**

District One is close to the Capitol, so the train ride home doesn’t take long. Even so, there’s a short stop before they enter the district, and Shiny, her mentor, pulls her off the train, away from whatever hidden microphones might be there.

“Congratulations. You’re a Victor.”

“I don’t feel like a Victor.” That isn’t what Cashmere means to say, but it’s what comes out anyway.

Shiny’s smile is wry. “I know.”

She would. Cashmere looks down. “Yeah.”

“Things aren’t going to be easy. But remember, you have all of us.” District One has two dead Victors and six living ones.

Well. Seven living ones.

Cashmere nods.

Shiny puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m always here for you, and so are the rest. We’ll talk more over the next few months before the Victory Tour.”

Cashmere winces internally but allows nothing to show on her face. She’s not looking forward to the Victory Tour. Not at all.

Shiny responds to it anyway. “Yeah. It’s gonna suck. But you’ll get through it. You’re a Victor, which means you’re a survivor. None of us have it in us to just lie down and die.”

She’s right, and Cashmere knows it. No matter what happens, she’s not going to die. No matter what.

**oOo**

Life gets… strange, after she wins.

The district is pleased with her -- she brought home a clean victory, and everyone loves Parcel Day. Speeches and fêtes and grand parties are given in her honor. She meets the Mayor and the other Victors.

Once the month of parties is over, Cashmere starts teaching at the Tribute Training Center, and the kids look at her with awe in their eyes. She’s one of the successes. Even Cocoa has a bit of it, and that’s just plain weird.

Her family…

Gloss is Gloss. Same as he’s always been -- her twin, her other half. Distant, but hers. She invites him to move into her brand new house up in Victor’s Village. When he hesitates, she tells him he can bring the whole family. It’s an impulse and probably the wrong decision, considering she dislikes her parents and barely knows her siblings, but she wants her twin with her, no matter what it takes. Maybe now they can rebuild some of those bonds that strained from their distance.

Living with her parents for the first time in over thirteen years is extremely awkward. She barely knows them anymore, not when they let her go so easily, not when they barely spent time with her on her visits home. Her mother tries at times to act like a mother to her but mostly fails; her father doesn’t even try. When it gets to be too much, Cashmere goes for a run or locks herself in her bedroom, which absolutely no one is allowed to enter without permission.

They always interview the families when you hit Final Eight in the Games. What did hers even have to say? She assumes the camera crew spent most of their time with Gloss. An attractive twin brother would be a draw, and he always knew her best.

The younger kids look at her like she’s a stranger. She gets along best with Silk and Brilliance, who are only six and four. Sure, they barely know her, but kids that young are adaptable, and they’re willing to just accept the change in circumstances and get to know their oldest sister. Radiance, at almost ten, is a bit of a know-it-all who thinks she’s too smart for pretty much everyone, while Polish is a teen and acts like it. 

Angora, who’s twelve, just made it through her first Reaping, and apparently she’s having nightmares about Cashmere killing her. Cashmere remembers being twelve and terrified of the Reaping, even knowing that One would have a volunteer. Every kid has the nightmares; the dorms at the Tribute Training Center didn’t have a silent night for weeks. It’s just her luck she won in her sister’s first year and they’re now living together. So she mostly tries to stay out of Angora’s way, because it’s not fair to her that she has to live with the subject of her nightmares. 

According to Gloss, their three youngest sisters all have soulmarks. Nothing so terrible as hers, and none of them has ever changed color -- but soulmarks nonetheless. They’re part of that crop of younger kids who have them. Cashmere wonders what changed. Why are there so many more soulmarks nowadays?

At least she knows why hers is so unusual now.

She wonders what color her mark on Caesar’s skin is. Pale pink maybe? Pale blue? Pale yellow? Pastels have always been her favorite, but if she had to pick one, it would probably be the pale pale pink her soulmark currently is.

“You were right,” she says to Gloss one day when they’re sitting out in her yard. Unless the chairs themselves are bugged, she doubts the Capitol bothers with all that grass.

“Was I?” Since he looks confused, she touches her sleeve right over her soulmark. His expression instantly clears. “Ah.”

“We didn’t talk. There wasn’t time, or privacy. But it’s him.”

His hand clasps hers. They sit in silence for a few minutes before Gloss says, “I hope he treats you well.”

“I think he will.” She’s not sure why she thinks that, other than the fact that Caesar always makes the tributes -- and Victors -- look the best they can for the cameras. He coaxes the shy ones, glamorizes the confident ones, brings out aspects of them no one else could. He’s a good host. She thinks he would be a good partner too.

Not that she’s sure if she wants him for a partner. Besides, he’s Capitol and significantly older than her; she almost certainly can’t _have_ him for a partner. But maybe, just maybe, he can be a friend.

Not that she has a partner anyway. Just after they arrived in One, Shiny told her very seriously that the ‘don’t lose your virginity’ rule the Center enforced is still in play and that she’d explain later.

Cashmere isn’t certain she wants to know.

**oOo**

She was right: she didn’t want to know.

About the only positive that can be gleaned from the situation is she’ll only be forced into prostitution when she’s actually in the Capitol.

It’s a cold comfort, but it’s the only one she has.

Cashmere throws herself into the Tribute Training Center lessons, teaching kids from four to eighteen everything from poise to knife throwing to knot-tying to how it feels to kill. She still likes presentation best; it was always her strong suit. And the other teachers notice. She’s put in charge of those lessons most often.

She never teaches the few academic lessons. Instead, she’s trying to learn how to read better now that she has time to concentrate on anything but the Games. It’s still hard, but she’s getting better slowly, even though the letters still like to move around. Working with Silk helps; she’s better than the six-year-old, but not by a lot. They learn together.

She has to pick a talent, something she can show off for the Capitol. After going over a long list of options with Shiny, she chooses flower arranging. Her knack for making herself look good works just as well with flowers, even if she finds the whole thing absurd beyond words.

The Victors get together for exercise and sparring three times a week, and Cashmere works out on her own the rest of the time or spars with the potential tributes.

She still has nightmares almost every night. Memories of killing those six kids.

_Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle._

Other images join them, ones that didn’t happen. Killing Cocoa or Luminescence or Mocha or Caviar. Killing her parents or her siblings or the other Victors.

Killing Gloss.

In her dreams her fears take shape -- being raped by Capitolites, being raped by others. She’s never had sex, still a virgin as the Capitol demands, but Shiny is teaching her all about how to please a man or woman. Because she’s going to need to know.

Cashmere rarely wakes screaming anymore, just a quick gasp once or twice a night and then lying awake in bed for hours. If she’s lucky, she can go back to sleep and get a few hours before another nightmare.

  
At least she has her own bedroom. The house came with five, and Cashmere made it very clear she wouldn’t be sharing, even with Gloss, let alone her parents or younger siblings. He doesn’t need to experience her terrors. None of them do.

So none of them know how little she sleeps, or how much she works out her anger and fear and guilt in teaching and running.

It’s a quiet life, now that the parties are mostly done.

She’s not looking forward to when it stops being quiet.

**oOo**


	5. Ten Minutes Ago

**oOo**

The Victory Tour begins with an image of her ‘adoring’ family seeing her off from District One.

_Adoring my ass_ , Cashmere thinks. Her parents still barely look at her, and her relationship with Polish, Angora, and Radiance is that of acquaintances at best. Only Gloss, Silk, and Brilliance are genuinely sad to see her go.

Well, three family members who will miss her is two more than she had before the Games. It’s kind of a win.

And then it’s time to take the train across the country to District Twelve.

The train seems emptier without Caviar or most of the District One Victors. Only Shiny -- her mentor -- comes on the train with her. Silverbelle, District One’s most recent Victor before Cashmere, is heading to the Capitol in a few days, and they’ll meet her there. No one talks about why Silverbelle is going to the Capitol, but Cashmere knows.

District Twelve is tiny. Their only town is maybe half the size of District One’s main city, and One has that many people again in smaller towns and villages doing things like mining and farming and drilling for oil. Twelve is also gray, covered in a layer of coal dust, and just… drab.

Cashmere wonders what it would be like to grow up in a place like this, where everyone, even the littlest children, seems exhausted.

And there’s an image of Ian above a platform where his family stands.

_Fuck_.

There’s also the girl’s image and family, but Cashmere didn’t kill her. Proserpine from Two did, during the bloodbath. She doesn’t remember the girl from Twelve’s name. Why doesn’t she remember?

Cashmere goes through the motions, trying not to look at Ian’s image. She makes the speech, says all the right things, and escapes back into the Justice Building as soon as she can.

She only has a few minutes of calm before she’s pulled on a tour of District Twelve, which doesn’t take very long given Twelve’s tininess. And then it’s time for dinner with all of Twelve’s notables.

...Not that Twelve has many notables.

The Mayor and his wife, the Head Peacekeeper, Haymitch Abernathy -- who spends the whole dinner drinking and palling around with Shiny. He won the 50th Games, Cashmere remembers, when twice as many tributes were Reaped. Shiny won the 49th; they must have known each other for years by now.

Cashmere finds herself eyeing Haymitch. She barely remembers his Games, given that she was just barely six at the time and mostly disappointed that none of the four tributes District One sent won, especially after the fun of Parcel Day the year before. But he’s paid for that win. Shiny told her all about how his soulmate died in the Arena, his family died for how he won the Games, and he’d been forced into prostitution anyway. The message is clear: if you do something out of line, you’ll lose your family, or worse. And they’ll still do what they want to you. Better to give in gracefully and get to keep at least some of what matters.

With only a week and a half to go until she’s back in the Capitol, Cashmere does her best to put it out of her mind. Instead she focuses on by far the most interesting person at the dinner: the Mayor’s daughter Madge, a little girl the same age as Brilliance. Cashmere plays with her, wondering if this child will be in the Games one day.

She hopes not.

After that, she’s bundled back onto the train, and it’s time to head for District Eleven.

Districts Eleven through Two follow the same pattern: off the train, listen to speeches, make a speech, try not to stare at the images of the children who died so she could live, tour the district, go to dinner, make nice with the notables, watch Shiny spend time with the other Victors, play with the notables’ kids whenever she can, back on the train. It would be boring if Cashmere weren’t spending the entire time trying not to vomit.

After that, it’s off to the Capitol -- District One is saved for last, of course.

Cashmere finally gets to see her soulmate again, but they’re constrained once more, limited to the usual Victory Tour interview in front of a crowd of thousands and all of Panem. His hair and eyeshadow and lipstick are still pale pale pink, as is her soulmark, and she’s in a dress of the same shade. It’s definitely become her signature.

The one time she genuinely smiles during the interview -- as opposed to faking it -- is when Caesar makes a joke about them matching. They do, right now, and part of her wants to cry.

After that is the banquet, and while she begins with Shiny and Silverbelle and a few of the other Victors who are in the Capitol on ‘business,’ they can’t protect her for long. She’s passed around like nothing so much as a party favor to men and women with covetous eyes. How many of them will buy her?

Which one has claimed her virginity?

How different will she be by the time she returns home?

**oOo**

Cashmere and Shiny return to their apartment in the Training Center to find a bright white envelope with Cashmere’s name on it sitting on a shiny silver tray just inside the front door. There’s a single deep red rose on top.

It would be beautiful if Cashmere didn’t know exactly what it is.

She picks up the envelope, careful not to cut herself on the rose’s thorns, and holds it for a minute. Here it is. Then, because she’s too practical to avoid terrible things by hoping they won’t happen, she opens it.

She’s still not very good at reading, even though she’s better than she was six months ago. All the fancy language is just trappings, though. What’s important is the date and the time.

And the name.

“Who is it?” Shiny asks, holding out her hand. Cashmere gives her the note. “Huh.” 

“Huh?”

“I don’t recall Caesar Flickerman ever buying anyone before. At least, he hasn’t in years.” Shiny eyes her. “He must have really liked you.”

Or it’s something to do with her soulmark.

**oOo**

Cashmere is delivered to Caesar’s house in a limousine. She goes alone even though Shiny offered to accompany her as far as she could; she told Shiny to stay in and take the night off. After a long look at her, Shiny agreed.

When the limousine drives up, Caesar opens the door to his house and gestures for her to come inside. “Welcome to my humble abode!”

Her smile is painted on like so much makeup. “It’s lovely.” She closes the door behind her. It feels final.

He looks at her with too-smart eyes. “You simply must see the house. Oh, and the yard!”

It’s freezing outside -- of course it is, it’s the Capitol in winter. There’s at least six inches of snow on the ground, and the heels she’s wearing are completely impractical. And yet, she knows enough by now to realize that the yard is the least likely place to be bugged. “I’d love to see the yard,” she says. She makes her eyes go wide. “I hope you can lend me a coat or a scarf though!”

“Of course, my dear. Of course.” He takes a long pale pink peacoat -- the same color as her soulmark currently is -- out of the closet and hands it to her, before donning one in the same midnight blue as his Hunger Games suit. The pale pink peacoat fits her perfectly.

Once in the yard, he leads her toward what must be a magnificent waterfall in summer. Even now, with the ground covered in snow, it’s beautiful. Clearly he’s prepared for this, because a large rock with a perfect view has been cleared of snow -- and not in the last few minutes either, given that it’s bone-dry. Caesar helps her sit, then takes a seat next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

She can’t help tensing up.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “In case there’s cameras.”

Ah.

Cashmere forces her body to relax, lean into him. This is just an act like all the others.

They sit in silence for a little. She can almost feel his heart beating, reminding her that he’s just as human as she is. For a moment she pictures him with her knife in his heart. She could kill him. Right here, right now. Stop him from taking her virginity.

And then what?

Be punished for killing a Capitolite? For all that she’s a Victor, she’s still from the districts. Haymitch comes to mind -- she could lose her whole family. _Gloss_. No. There’s no point. Best to see what he wants to say. Determinedly, she shakes the image from her head.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet, just a hair above a whisper. “I always knew I would meet my soulmate that day. And that it would be a Hunger Games contestant. When I saw you in that pink, I knew.” Sighing, Caesar lets his hand fall and stares determinedly at the pond at the bottom of the falls. “I’d already been interviewing the tributes for thirteen years by the time you were born. I hadn’t…” He shakes his head. “I never questioned the Games. Until I knew you would be in them.”

“I never questioned the Games,” she whispers. “Until I had to kill.” She stares just as determinedly at the pond.

“What a pair we make.”

She leans her head against his shoulder and murmurs, “Your mark. Where is it?”

He taps the shoulder she’s leaning on. “Right here. It’s pale pink, the same as my hair -- it’s why I chose pink this year. What about you?”

“Here.” She brushes her arm. She knows exactly what else he wants to know, but she waits for him to ask.

“The color?”

“At the moment, pale pink.”

“...At the moment?”

“I’ve heard soulmarks are your soulmate’s favorite color. As far as I can tell, your favorite changes every year.”

“So last year…”

“Aqua.”

“And the year before?”

“Dark red. And before that, burnished copper.”

She feels him smile as he recognizes the pattern. “I’d like to see that.”

Cashmere licks her lips. “Well. You’ve bought me for tonight. You can see it if you want.”

He takes a deep breath. “If you want, I will have sex with you. If you don’t, we’ll simply sleep together, and you can ask someone else -- your mentor, maybe, or another Victor.” He squeezes her shoulder. “I wanted you to have the choice.”

She has to blink away tears. He’s offering her the only choice he can. “I’d rather give my virginity to my soulmate than to anyone else.”

He stands and offers her a hand. She takes it.

**oOo**

The next morning, Cashmere lies in Caesar’s bed, cataloging how her body feels. He made it good for her, she knows -- while she was a virgin until last night, it’s been a few months since Shiny told her what was expected, and she’s been studying. Her body enjoyed it, even if her mind was torn.

But she stands by what she said: better him than anyone else.

It’s clear he cares for her, and a part of her is coming to care for him too. It’s not love. It may not ever be love. But it is something good.

As she stretches, her eyes catch on his soulmark -- her words on his shoulder in pale pale pink. She belongs to the Capitol. But if she’s lucky, he can be hers.

**oOo**

After that, her last week in the Capitol is a whirlwind of parties and strangers’ beds. She’s on a different Capitolite’s arm every night, and every day there’s a new white envelope and long-stemmed red rose waiting for her.

Her sexual experience grows in leaps and bounds. She sucks a cock for the first time. Learns how to have sex with a woman. Finds out just how much some Capitolites like to play games (but not Games) with Victors. Bondage, sadism, dominance. She experiences it all.

By the time she’s allowed to return to District One for the final dinner at the Mayor’s house and the victory rally, she’s more than ready to go home. Between the parties, the sex, and the nightmares, she’s barely slept all week, and the exhaustion is creeping in.

The last day of the Victory Tour is just one more thing to get through, and she does. Smiles her fake smile, laughs her tinkling laugh, and pretends everything is okay. It’ll have to do.

**oOo**


	6. One Day I’ll Fly Away

**oOo**

When she walks into her house after the Victory Tour is finally over, her mother greets her with a sniff and a glare. “Cashmere Dubois, I raised you better than that. Partying with all those Capitolites? How many of them shared your bed?” Everyone is in the living room, staring at her.

She opens her mouth to yell at her mother, then closes it.

She can’t.

She cannot tell them the truth.

If it gets around District One, they’re all dead, and she has no faith anyone will keep it a secret. Why would she? They’re barely her family.

“I am an adult, Mother. And a Victor. If I choose to have sex with someone, it is my choice.” She almost chokes on the irony. The only one that was remotely a choice was Caesar, and even that was coerced. “You have no say in how I live my life. You raised me? That’s a joke. The Center raised me. You just gave birth.” Her mother flinches. “And if you want to keep harping on me, you can leave and go back to your own home.” Brilliance, clearly not understanding what’s going on, jumps up and wraps her arms around Cashmere’s stomach. She runs her fingers through her baby sister’s hair. “Well?”

Her mother gives her a disappointed look and turns her back.

Well.

She lost her parents years ago; this is only one more iteration. At least the other Victors know the truth. It’s a cold comfort.

After reassuring Silk and Brilliance that she’s truly okay, Cashmere climbs the stairs and heads for her bedroom. Gloss is already there, waiting on her bed in a forced casual pose. She stares at him for a moment then closes the door behind her. “Don’t you harp on me either.”

He shakes his head and stands up. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” His eyes are worried.

She nods. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” She does. She’s saving all their lives.

He accepts that. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.” She lets him draw her into a hug. “I know.”

**oOo**

Over the next few months, Cashmere throws herself into teaching at the Tribute Training Center and sparring with the other Victors. Working herself to exhaustion is the only way she can sleep, and even then the nightmares usually wake her up after only a few hours. None of the other Victors mind; they all know what she’s going through. They just help her when she needs it.

She couldn’t ask for better friends.

She has friends now! Okay, so they’re all much older -- even Silverbelle is seven years older than her -- but they’re still her friends.

Come April, Onyx asks her opinion of her former yearmates. Cocoa is a given, of course, and there’s two or three girls who could do as backups.

The boys…

Well, they’re not great.

After the final test in December and the month or two after when they lose the kids who managed to kill but can’t handle it in the aftermath, only three boys are left, and they’re a pretty weak showing. Cashmere says as much.

Onyx nods. “I considered doing what we did last year, but…”

Cashmere’s more familiar with the younger kids than she was as a student. She shakes her head. “You need to save Jasper for next year. He’s probably good. The rest I’m not sure about.” Some of them might do, but there’s just no way to know. 

He sighs. “I know.”

“You’d have to go to the sixteens, and none of them are ready.”

“It’ll have to be Phenom.” He’s the least-worst, but he’s mediocre at both presentation and combat even though he’s the best at survival. Still, he’ll hopefully give a good show before he dies.

Cashmere nods. “Yeah. I’ll be rooting for Cocoa.”

Onyx smiles at her. “Same.” He glances at the clock. “I have a meeting at three, but I’ll see you for sparring tonight?”

“You’re on.”

**oOo**

“Cocoa and Phenom, huh?” Gloss says when she tells him who they’ve picked. 

Once again, they’re sitting in her backyard, this time watching a small campfire. It’s the first time they’ve done this in a while. Cashmere can feel herself growing apart from her twin, and she wonders if he feels it too. They managed to keep their bond all through training, no matter how stretched it got, but becoming a Victor and keeping secrets -- necessary secrets, but still -- has put an immutable wall between them.

Cashmere nods. “Cocoa’s fine. She was ready last year. Phenom…” She shakes her head.

“That bad?”

“Not bad, per se. If it were just him against the non-Career districts, I’d bet on him. He’ll probably be as good as Four unless they send someone extraordinary. But Cocoa’s much better, and Two will eat him alive.”

“Fair.” He stretches out and stares at the fire. “You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately.”

Her whole body tenses. “I thought I’d been quiet.”

“You are, usually. But my bed’s on the other side of the wall from your room, and, I don’t know… I think I’m just attuned to you. Remember when we used to share a room?”

They shared that room up until she was sent off to the Tribute Training Center. The first time she came home, Polish had been moved in with Gloss while she was put in her own room. Eventually she shared with her younger sisters or slept out in the living room until she got this new much bigger house, with a private room for her and only two people in each of the other rooms.

Cashmere doesn’t say all this. “Yes,” she says instead.

He rolls over to look at her. “I missed you when you left.”

“I missed you too. But I never regretted being where I was.” At least, she hadn’t for a very long time. Now she’s not so sure.

“Sometimes I wished I could join you. Remember how you used to teach me everything you could?”

Cashmere laughs. “Wrestling and knife throwing and walking with books stacked on your head.” She smiles -- a genuine smile, which have been all too rare of late. “I really do like teaching.”

“I know. You’re good with Silk and Brilliance.”

“Kids are easy. Good thing I have a guaranteed teaching job for the rest of my life, I guess.” No matter what else she does, she’ll always have the Tribute Training Center.

“Yeah, good thing.” He smiles at her, a long slow smile that she would probably think was sexy if he weren’t her twin. “Teach me again?”

“Huh?”

“Wrestling and knife throwing and walking with books stacked on my head. Teach me?”

She considers it for a moment. “Why not?” She tilts her head. “I’ll go get the books.”

**oOo**

From then on, time moves too quickly. 

Right on schedule, her soulmark changes to bright gold. It’s almost time for the Games.

Shiny informs her that she won’t be a mentor this year, but she will be going to the Capitol. First, having been in the same year as Cocoa and Phenom, she might find it hard to separate from them properly. Second, as a brand new Victor, her _services_ will be too in-demand to spend time mentoring, not when One has so many other Victors to take care of business. If she were One’s only Victor or one of two or three, she’d be excused from whoring as long as her tributes were alive, but she’s the seventh living Victor from One. The Capitol can sell her, and One’s tributes won’t miss her at all.

Instead, Shiny will mentor Cocoa while Truffle will take Phenom. If they need assistance, they’ll get it from Sparkle or Onyx or Golda or occasionally Silverbelle. After all, all the Victors will be going to the Capitol, even though only she and Silverbelle are still being sold with any regularity.

Shiny’s still beautiful at only thirty-two, but she laughs when Cashmere asks tentatively why she’s not still being sold. “Oh, I’m old news. Not so young. There’s all those fresh new Victors -- far more interesting. I still have one or two clients, but they tend toward the discreet. I can manage them around my other responsibilities.”

That explains where she disappeared to for those two weeks in March, anyway.

Shiny puts a hand on her shoulder. “Give it a few years, and you’ll be old news too. Silverbelle’s already less popular than she was five years ago.”

Cashmere nods. Unlike her, Silverbelle didn’t have an engagement every night during that week of the Victory Tour, and two of the ones she had lasted longer than just one night.

Cashmere hopes she loses popularity quickly.

**oOo**

Reaping Day comes, same as it does every year. This year, Cashmere sits on the stage with the other Victors instead of standing with the kids from the Tribute Training Center. Those kids stand out in the sea of faces -- a formation of neat rows among the gaggle of other kids. She can pick them out immediately, even though today they’re not in uniform. All the better to continue the illusion that One doesn’t have a training school, even though everyone knows they do.

The girl, Sateen Ericson, is called first, a sixteen-year-old who Cashmere actually recognizes from the Training Center. _Excellent with swords, good at survival, mediocre presentation_ , her mind supplies. Sateen would probably be okay if she had to go in, but when volunteers are requested, Cocoa is quick to put up her hand and call out, “I volunteer!”

Something about the way Cocoa looks almost eager when she gets up onstage unnerves Cashmere a little. She wonders if it’s an act. She hopes it’s an act. One’s tributes don’t usually go in for bloodthirsty -- that’s more Two’s shtick -- but it’s not unheard of.

Cocoa was never very good at the whole innocent-yet-sexy thing that Cashmere’s so good at, though. A different tactic might just work for her.

After that, it’s the boys. A seventeen-year-old who’s clearly from an oil-drilling family, judging by his clothing, trudges up to the stage. He’s trying to look brave, but he’s not quite managing. His hands are trembling too much.

The escort calls for volunteers, and Cashmere feels her eyes going to Phenom, who looks…

Nervous?

He hesitates for a moment, and in that instant, another voice calls out, “I volunteer!”

Cashmere freezes. She knows that voice.

The crowd parts, and a young man makes his way forward from the eighteen-year-old section.

_Gloss._

**oOo**


	7. Two of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: from here on out, there will be mentions/descriptions of forced incest. I'm not going to warn on every chapter, so just be aware this may be showing up from now on.

**oOo**

“You, you moron! You idiot! You complete cannonbait fool!” Cashmere beats her hands against her brother’s chest. “What were you _thinking_?” Part of her knows the room in the Justice Building is bugged. But at this point, she doesn’t care. Anyone watching already knows she’s close to her brother. Besides, he’s a tribute now. Either he dies or he exits a Victor, and either way their closeness doesn’t matter anymore.

“I was thinking I’m already losing my sister, and I don’t want to lose you more.”

“But I could lose you!”

“I think I have a chance. You told me back in April you thought Phenom didn’t.” He twirls one of her curls around his finger. “Besides, I’ve been training for the past two months.”

“You--” Everything she’s taught him suddenly pops into her head. This is why he was so intent on sparring, on practicing wrestling, on throwing knives, even on learning how to find food and build a fire. He’s already friendly, he’ll play well to the cameras -- had he been in the Tribute Training Center, he’d have been just as good at presentation as she was. He’s okay at survival, at least as good as most non-Careers, and that’s actually the easiest skill to pick up during the three days of training before the Games. Weapons and fighting are his weak points, but he’s good at wrestling, better than her even, and competent at throwing knives. Knives are in almost every Arena, and wrestling just needs his body. She sags. “You’ve been planning this for a while.”

He grins wryly. “Yeah.”

A Peacekeeper clears her throat -- her time must be almost up, and while they won’t drag a Victor out, they’ll warn her -- and Cashmere pokes Gloss in the chest. “Don’t think I’m finished with you, mister. But I’ll see you on the train. _You_ get to explain to our parents why their golden boy decided to do something this fucking stupid.”

He winces.

She smirks. “Good luck.”

Then she swans out of the room and into the hallway, where there’s an entire line of people waiting to speak to Gloss. Her family is first, followed by dozens of teenagers. Her brother is popular and has friends. The kids at the normal schools don’t have the same fear of friendship that the kids at the Tribute Training Center do.

Cashmere waits for her family to talk to Gloss. Once they’re out, her mother glares at her before storming off, followed quickly by her father. She wasn’t really expecting anything else, to be honest.

Their younger siblings, however, come over to her. Polish is trying to hold himself together, while Silk is clinging to Angora and Brilliance is clinging to Radiance. All four of the girls look terrified.

“Hey,” she says, kneeling down so she’s about Silk’s height. “I’ll do my best to get him home, okay?”

All of them nod, like those little bobblehead Victor dolls they sell in the Capitol. Then, one by one, they cling to her for reassurance, even the older three who she’s not as close to. Even Angora, who’s surprisingly willing to accept comfort from her.

“I’ll see you guys in a month or so,” she tells them. “Look out for each other.” Her eyes catch on each of them, longest on the older kids. They’ve got to be the older siblings now.

Polish nods and takes each of his youngest sisters’ hands, while Angora and Radiance clutch each other. “We will.”

**oOo**

The train ride is as quick as it always is, given how close One is to the Capitol. Cashmere spends as much time as she can with Gloss. She can see the way the rest of the Victors are watching the two of them and exchanging loaded glances, and she’s entirely certain she doesn’t want to know why.

She’s also entirely certain she’s going to find out, whether she likes it or not.

Once they’re in the Capitol and Gloss and Cocoa have been directed to the Remake Center, Shiny grabs her wrist and pulls her toward the Training Center. They take the elevator to the twelfth floor, which is still empty -- Twelve’s train must not have arrived yet; unsurprising given how much closer One is to the Capitol than Twelve. Shiny keeps a grip on her wrist and half-drags her to a staircase which goes up until it reaches the roof. The wind is blowing, probably loud enough to make bugs useless.

Shiny drops Cashmere’s wrist and sits on the ground against a wall. “Here, this is one of the few places we can talk privately in this blasted city.”

“What’s going on?” Cashmere joins her on the ground.

The sigh is heartfelt. “I told you about Haymitch and why it’s best not to defy the Capitol.” She waits for Cashmere’s nod. “I didn’t tell you why One only has seven living Victors. I should have. Maybe then you could’ve convinced your brother not to do something so incredibly moronic.”

Cashmere blinks. “Huh?” She knows what Gloss did was stupid; he’s not trained and probably doesn’t have much of a chance. But it seems like there’s more to it.

Shiny takes a deep breath. “Noire Rosewood was the Victor of the 15th Hunger Games. I never met her; she died about ten years before I was born. But when Sparkle mentored me and told me about, well, the you-know-what, she told me about Noire, and what happened to her. After all, we didn’t have Haymitch as our example.” She rubs her temples with both hands. “Back then, from what Sparkle told me, the training program wasn’t so regimented; there were plenty of siblings, when One had volunteers at all. We were more like Four -- if you were sixteen or older and seemed like you might have a chance, you didn’t necessarily get someone volunteering for you. Now… not so much. We discourage siblings at any stage, and we keep an eye on siblings to make sure no more than one kid from any family actually makes it to the Games. Golda made that rule, after…” she trails off. After a moment, she starts speaking again. “Onyx agreed when he took over. He knows what to look for, and if more than one sibling seems poised to still be in the program at the age of fourteen, reasons are found to get all but one of them out. He’s even careful about cousins, especially if they look alike. Hell, once a family sends one kid, we stop courting them at all.”

But now Gloss has volunteered. Dread starts to rise in Cashmere’s throat.

“Things in the Capitol weren’t much different after the 15th Games than they are now. Noire was sold pretty much immediately, but while she was pretty enough she wasn’t beautiful or exotic or all that interesting; she seemed fated to have a relatively short career. In fact, by the 17th Games she was already fading. She’d grown up poor, and some of the effects still showed, even with Remake. It’s part of why her parents sent her to the Training Center, to make sure their kids would be able to eat. They sent all of their kids. Unfortunately, three years after she won her Games, her younger brother Grigio was Reaped as District One’s male tribute. He was part of the training program and already eighteen, so no one volunteered for him. And he won.”

Cashmere can see the parallels.

“The Capitol is not a nice place, Cashmere. I know you know that. But it’s worse than you think. One enterprising Capitolite bought both Noire and Grigio. At first, he just fucked them both. But then…” Shiny licks her lips. “He forced them to fuck each other.”

Her heart stops for an instant before it begins beating again at triple time.

“It became a trend. Grigio couldn’t handle it. Less than two years after he won the Games, he killed first his sister and then himself. Of course, the Capitol killed their entire family. There are no Rosewoods left in District One, and no Lamberts either. Their mother’s family,” Shiny clarifies. “All of them died. Everyone knew why. Sparkle was a teen when it happened, and she told me word went around the Center, and Golda limited the siblings. Because she never wanted that to happen again.”

Cashmere hugs her knees to her chest. “When I was little, I wanted Gloss to join me at the Center.”

“When you were five, Onyx probably would’ve allowed it. After all, so many kids drop out or get kicked out anyway, so why not allow siblings that young? But come fourteen, one of you would have been removed. Even if you both were excellent -- and I think you could have been -- Onyx would have made a choice and found a reason to kick one of you out.” Shiny sighs. “We brought this on ourselves, didn’t we? Pushing you to go last year and all.”

If Cashmere had gone this year and Cocoa last year -- or someone from the year above her, if any of the girls had been good enough -- Gloss wouldn’t have volunteered. He knows as well as anyone that only one person comes back; going in the same year would guarantee at least one of them would die. And come next year, he’ll be too old. He only qualifies by five days as it is: he’ll be nineteen in the actual Games.

But she went -- and won -- last year, and now Gloss is here.

And he thinks he can win. He thinks they can be Victors together, regain their bond. He doesn’t know the truth.

Shiny is right; Cashmere would have discouraged him if she’d known he was going to volunteer. It’s undoubtedly why he kept it a secret even from her. If she’d known about Noire and Grigio… she’s not sure what it would have changed, but she would’ve tried to keep him out even harder. Yes, she hates that they’re losing their bond, that becoming a killer and a whore has torn her even farther from Gloss than the Training Center did. But as terrible as that is, she’d rather lose their bond than lose Gloss or see him become a killer or a whore like her.

“So now you have to make a choice, because you’re the only one who can. Does Truffle work to get your brother home, even knowing you’ll probably end up being forced into sex with him? Or do we abandon Gloss and throw all of District One’s resources behind Cocoa?” Shiny looks directly at her. “Even if Truffle mentors Gloss properly, he might not make it. It’s one in twenty-four, and sure, he has a better chance than most of the kids.” She grimaces. “Especially since there are elements in the Capitol who will want him to win. He certainly won’t be hurting for sponsorship money. But money only helps so much, and no one can predict the way the Games will go. Even with a mentor’s full help, there might be a fire or a ravine he doesn’t spot or some kid from Three or Six or Eight who gets lucky. And Gloss might freeze up when he has to kill. He hasn’t had a final test; we don’t know how he’ll react. So Truffle can try. He’ll do his best, assuming that’s what you want. Hell, even if Truffle doesn’t help him, he could still win. Barlie won back in 59 with no sponsor gifts at all -- Nine just didn’t have any money. But that’s rarer. So you have to choose: does Truffle give him the best chance he can or does he leave him out to dry?”

How can she make this decision? How can Shiny expect her to?

How could she ever leave it to anyone else?

She can’t abandon Gloss. She can’t. Even knowing what might happen. Even knowing she might have to… fuck… him. 

He’s still her twin.

“Tell Truffle to try,” she finally says. “And it’s not his fault if he fails.”

Shiny nods. “I will.”

**oOo**

Gloss is a natural. As the chariots go down the avenue, he grins at the crowd, accepting their worship as his due.

They’re already chanting his name.

Once the parade is over, Cocoa stalks into the room an Avox directs her to and slams the door behind her. Gloss, clad in gold which makes him shine and riding the high of adulation, grins at Cashmere. “They loved me.”

She forces a smile. “They did.”

He spots the white envelope and the red rose on the silver tray on the table next to the door. “Hey, this has your name on it.” Picking it up, he starts to open it.

Cashmere snatches it out of his hands. “That’s private.” She doesn’t know what he’d do if he read it. Sure, it’s couched in fancy language, but he’ll figure it out. He’s always been better at reading than her. What will he do if he knows? 

He can’t know. He _can’t_.

If he wins the Games, he will.

But if he loses -- if he dies -- there’s no reason for him to know. Selfishly, part of her wishes he could die and never know, but more of her wants him to live, no matter what it means. _Why did he have to volunteer_? Him not being in the Games at all would have been the best choice, even if it killed their bond entirely.

Keeping her face carefully blank, she opens the envelope. It’s the summons she expected. But her heart leaps a little at the name: Caesar Flickerman. 

“So what is it?” Gloss asks.

“I have an appointment, apparently. I guess I’m missing dinner tonight.” She looks at the clock; the limousine will pick her up in an hour. “I have to go get ready.” Pale pink, she decides. A dress in her signature color.

Gloss puts a hand on her arm. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

His brow furrows as he lets go. “No reason.” 

**oOo**

She was right; the waterfall is magnificent in summer. Better yet, it’s so loud it’ll definitely block out any potential bugs.

She curls up against Caesar on that same rock, her shoes kicked off as she leans into him. Everything about him is gold this year -- not a surprise, considering her soulmark -- which suits him well.

He finally breaks the silence. “Your brother.”

She nods. “My twin.”

“Ah. He looks very much like you.” He twines one of her curls around his finger. “Not the planned volunteer.”

“How did you know?” she asks, turning her head just enough to see his face.

His smile is wry. “My dear, I’ve been interviewing the tributes for over thirty years, and watching the Hunger Games long before. The camera took a little too long to find him when he volunteered. Also, One’s volunteers always have a certain… presence. The girl this year has it. You have it. He doesn’t.”

Cashmere wonders if it’s the same thing she noticed back in One -- the changes everyone goes through after they take their final test. It’s something Gloss hasn’t done. She might be wrong; Caesar’s right that he’s been watching the Games for a long time, and he may have noticed something different, something she’s missing. But she thinks it’s likely.

“There’s little I can do. Make him look good in the interview, of course. Remind people he’s your brother. But as an employee of the Games, I’m not allowed to sponsor a tribute and I’m not allowed to bet.” He kisses her head. “I’d have sponsored you if I could.”

She isn’t sure what to say to that, so she just half-shrugs half-nods. Another of her curls slips out of its pins and he twines it around his finger, tugging on it lightly. “What would you like to do tonight?”

“I’m yours for the next twelve hours.”

“And the choice is yours.”

She could have sex with him. He made it good last time; she knows he would do the same again. But really what she wants… “Can we just sleep tonight? I want you to hold me.”

He strokes her cheek. “I would be honored, my dear.”

**oOo**

Caesar feels secure. Like he can protect her from the world. He can’t, of course. No one can. But he _feels_ like he can.

For the first time in a long time, Cashmere sleeps straight through the night.

She wakes up to him gently rubbing her soulmark, the gold shining on her skin. His is still pink, which makes her slightly sad; she wishes they still matched. Maybe one day he’ll choose pale pale pink again.

His hair is still gold, but this early in the morning, his eyelids and lips have returned to their normal color, as has his skin. He looks more human than he does when he interviews the tributes.

For a moment, she considers kissing him, turning them over and having sex with her soulmate. But only for a moment.

Instead she stretches and sits up. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replies. “What do you want to do?”

“Well, we only have three hours or so until I have to be back at the Training Center, and I missed dinner last night.”

“Breakfast it is.” He climbs out of bed and pulls on a midnight blue robe, then takes another one -- in that same pale pale pink, and she knows it’ll be perfectly sized for her -- off the hook behind the door. “What would you like?”

“Waffles,” she says immediately. They were a special treat back at the Tribute Training Center, and they’re still her favorite now. “With strawberries. And whipped cream.” She follows him out of bed and puts on the robe when he holds it out for her. She was right; it fits her perfectly.

“I know the perfect place. We’ll order in, if that’s fine with you?”

“That sounds good to me.”

Breakfast is… nice. They sit outside at a table where they can see the waterfall and talk about everything and nothing. Caesar tells her funny stories of him as a child. She tells him about growing up in the Tribute Training Center, though she frames it as District One’s boarding school. He’s not fooled, but there are still things one doesn’t say aloud.

The waffles are divine.

Once breakfast is over, she puts on her clothing from the night before. Caesar sees her down to the limousine, as always waiting for her, and kisses her hand before closing the door.

He’s passed her test. The one she didn’t tell him she was giving.

She just spent twelve hours with a man who has all the power in the world over her. She didn’t ask how much he spent for so many hours of her time, but she knows it’s a lot. Any missteps she makes could end in her family dying. Gloss, of course, would be a prime target. An accident in the Arena is downright easy to arrange. And the rest of her family wouldn’t be that difficult. 

If Caesar wanted sex, she’d have done it. She wouldn’t have had a choice.

Instead, he lived up to his offer. He did exactly what she wanted and no more. They talked, they slept together, they had a breakfast she requested. And other than when the cameras might see, he never once touched her without permission.

He could have forced her into sex.

Instead he gave her something much more valuable.

Cashmere is shocked to find that she trusts Caesar. After the Games, after the Victory Tour, after that terrible week, she never thought she could trust someone from the Capitol. And yet, she does.

_I like him._

Where did that thought come from?

It’s true, though. She likes him. Even though he has at least thirty years on her, maybe forty, she considers him a friend. Her fingers brush over her soulmark -- covered once again by both makeup and her dress.

No matter what happens with Gloss, she’ll still have her soulmate.

  
**oOo**


	8. Live For the One I Love

**oOo**

Cashmere doesn’t see Gloss much over the next few days. He’s busy training and being evaluated; she’s busy fucking whoever President Snow sells her to.

She makes sure to talk up her brother at every one of those assignations. Sure, she can’t officially get sponsors -- they have to contact Truffle for that, as Gloss’s official mentor -- but she can encourage them to open their wallets. After sex is a great time for that, and her innocent-yet-sexy face still works wonders on Capitolites.

No commitments are made, not yet. Not when he hasn’t gotten his training score. But she’s at least intrigued some of her customers.

She manages to find time to watch the scores with everyone from District One. Silverbelle spritzes her with gardenia-scented perfume when she comes rushing in mere minutes before they start -- her appointment just ended, and she’s barely back. “Careful,” Silverbelle whispers. “You smell like a whorehouse.”

Cashmere grimaces and waves at the spray bottle. “Give me more of that.” She’s never liked the scent of gardenias, but it’s better than sex. Silverbelle obliges until she can’t smell anything but flowers.

There’s a spot next to Gloss, but she doesn’t want to sit next to him. What if he smells the sex under the flowers? Instead she squeezes in between Shiny and Onyx, who pats her on the shoulder and looks at her with sympathetic eyes.

As the male tribute from District One, Gloss is up first. His score of eight is impressive for someone who isn’t actually a Career.

It’s immediately overshadowed by Cocoa’s eleven.

It’s the first time Cashmere can remember seeing an eleven. What did the girl do to get that kind of score?  Cocoa’s smile is unnerving. Especially the way she’s staring at Gloss.

By now the rest of the Careers almost certainly know that he’s not actually one of them. He may not be safe with the Pack. Cashmere catches Truffle’s eye, then glances at Cocoa and Gloss before looking back at him. Truffle nods in return. He sees it too. Gloss is his responsibility; he’ll look out for her brother.

Cashmere only hopes it’s enough.

**oOo**

Caesar lives up to his promise. He makes Gloss look good -- the gold costume helps too, and Cashmere supposes that’s about to become his signature color, assuming he survives -- and he reminds everyone that Gloss and Cashmere are twins.

Cashmere spends her nineteenth birthday in the audience with today’s ‘date,’ watching her brother charm the world.

“Goodness, to have both of you…” Cassia Cardew muses as she clutches Cashmere’s arm. The old woman’s nails feel like claws biting into her flesh.

Cashmere forces a smile. “He’ll have to win for that.”

“That’s a point. Perhaps I’ll sponsor him.”

Cashmere doesn’t shudder. She can’t afford to.

She hopes Gloss doesn’t blame her for trying to keep him alive.

**oOo**

That night, after Cashmere showers, she sneaks into Gloss’s room. She’s expecting to find him asleep, but he’s still awake, and he sits up when she comes in. “Hey.” He lifts the blanket and gestures for her to join him.

She does. “Hey.” It’s like being four again, right before their parents separated them.

He presses a kiss to her hand. “You’ve been busy since we got here.”

“Yeah. I know.” She laughs her fake laugh. “Lots of demands on a Victor’s time.”

“Don’t lie to me, Cash. There’s more going on, isn’t there?”

With a sigh, she says, “Yeah.” She can’t lie to him, not when he asks like that. But that doesn’t mean she has to tell him the full truth. “I can’t tell you everything. I’m not allowed. But yeah.”

“Be safe?”

“Always.”

He cradles her in his arms and she feels that security. There are only two people in the world who make her feel like this: her soulmate and her brother. She barely knows the first and she could lose the second tomorrow.

This may be her last night with Gloss.

If she loses him, she doesn't know how she’ll go on.

No.

That’s a lie.

She’s a survivor. If she loses him, she’ll go on anyway. A part of her will always miss her brother, but another part will rejoice that he never had to experience everything she’s gone through. It will be the opposite if he survives. 

Either way, she loses.

With a sob, she curls further into Gloss’s arms and cries herself to sleep.

**oOo**

His stylist gets him before dawn. Cashmere tells him she loves him, kisses him one last time, then stays in his bed, clutching his pillow. It still smells like him.

Golda is the one who comes to get her a few hours later. By then, it’s late morning. “Come, child. We’re going to watch the start of the Games together.”

“I don’t have an appointment?” Cashmere’s voice is small. She feels like a child.

“Not until tonight. Now, get yourself dressed and we’ll go to the living room.”

Cashmere obeys the older woman. Golda is District One’s oldest Victor, born ten years before the Hunger Games started. She’s old enough to be Cashmere’s grandmother, and she chivvies Cashmere into getting dressed and drinking a protein shake with all the self-assurance of a woman who has raised numerous children and grandchildren. Last Cashmere heard, Golda even has a few great-grandkids now.

Sparkle, Onyx, and Silverbelle are already in the living room. Truffle and Shiny aren’t there; they’re probably off in Mentor Central, wherever that is. Shiny said she’ll show Cashmere once she isn’t so in-demand.

Golda hands her a plate of food and points her to the couch. It’s all easy to digest stuff, and Cashmere nibbles a croissant nervously while she waits for the Games to begin.

The Games are…

The Games.

Gloss allies with the Career Pack, but it’s clear from the start that there are divisions. Gloss and the two from District Four are one group, while Cocoa and the two from District Two are the other. There’s an uneasy truce; they all work together to take down the weaker tributes, but everyone knows how they will divide when it’s time.

The expression on Gloss’s face when he kills for the first time…

Cashmere will never forget it. She wonders if she looked like that with each death.

_ Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle. _

Cashmere is only guaranteed to see the nightly highlights, during Mandatory Viewing, and even then she sometimes misses the TV due to having her face in someone’s crotch. The rest of the time, she flits from one bed to another. Except for the two days she spends in the hospital, recovering from what one Capitolite did to her with his bullwhip and his cock. Those are the only days she’s guaranteed to have no appointments and all the time she wants to watch the Games, so she delays leaving as long as possible.

Once Gloss hits the Final Eight, the interviewers carve out half an hour to speak to her and ask her about her brother. She’s already dressed up for her night out since she has an appointment immediately after, but she makes sure to talk up her brother.

As expected, the Pack breaks up when Cocoa stabs the boy from Four in the back. After that, it’s a free-for-all.

Gloss kills Cocoa when she tries to kill him. Cashmere hopes that he does it without regret and knows perfectly well that he doesn’t.

After that it’s a knock-down-drag-out fight between Gloss and the boy from Ten, which finally comes down to a wrestling match as Gloss pins his opponent and chokes the boy to death.

Her heart rises and sinks all at the same time.

Her twin has survived.

But what will that mean for the future?

**oOo**

That night, after Gloss is lifted from the Arena and brought to the hospital, she’s once again summoned to see her soulmate. Part of her wonders just how much money he’s spending to do this; he’s the only customer she’s had more than once.

When she tentatively asks, he laughs. “I’m a rich old man, Cashmere. I like my comforts, but I don’t have many vices. You’re the first Victor I’ve bought, and I can certainly afford to buy you when I need to.”

Part of her hates how he describes it; the rest is glad he can afford to do this. Most of her is very pleased he’s never bought another Victor before.

As they’re lying in bed after sex -- this time, she needed it to remember sex can be good after all the terrible clients she’s had -- he brings up Gloss and what will be expected of him. Of them.

“Yeah,” she agrees. She puts her hand on Caesar’s. “Can you… can you do what you did for me? Give him the choice.” It’s a lot to ask, and she knows it. She’s asking it anyway.

“You care about him.”

“He’s my twin.”

Caesar traces the gold letters of her soulmark. “I’ll do my best. It depends on if they let me buy a Victor’s virginity two years in a row.” His smile is wry. “When something is in demand and not readily available in the Capitol, there is always competition.”

She nods. “Of course. I understand if you can’t. But… thank you, for being willing to try.”

“If I can… do you want to be there?”

“Yes.” It slips out before she can think about it, but after reflecting, her answer doesn’t change. “Yes. I do. Better to introduce him to everything with you.”

He nods. “I will do what I can.”

  
**oOo**


	9. A Million Miles Away

**oOo**

The return to District One goes about as well as can be expected.

The district is happy, at least. Two years in a row of Parcel Day is nothing to sneeze at, even for the better-off districts like One. That’s something Cashmere -- and Gloss -- can be proud of.

Her parents promptly decide the entire family is going to move out of her house and into Gloss’s, which turns out not to work as well as they expected.

“I wanna stay with Cash!” Silk cries, clinging to her oldest sister.

“Me too!” Brilliance echoes.

Polish shrugs. “I don’t care which house I’m in, I just want my own room.”

“Agreed,” Angora says.

At the same time, Radiance says, “Same here.”

Gloss grins. “It’s just next door, guys. And there’s nine of us and ten bedrooms. Everyone can have their own room.”

After some shuffling and a few tears, Cashmere, Gloss, Polish, Silk, and Brilliance stay in Cashmere’s house, while their parents, Angora, and Radiance move next door, and the doors are left unlocked in both houses so everyone can travel between them easily -- stealing from a Victor is a crime, and one the Peacekeepers actually punish. No one in One would risk it. 

Technically Gloss should move, but he wants to stick close to Cashmere, and she’s not arguing. Besides, the other Victors seem to find it more funny than worrying that the family is splitting up this way, so Cashmere decides not to worry either. Gloss sets up his workroom -- he’s picked wedding ring shawls as his talent -- in a bedroom in his house. He also puts a daybed there, so he can always claim he’s sleeping there if he needs to. Also, it’s good for naps, which he’s probably going to need, given the nightmares.

They go to the parties which celebrate Gloss. Cashmere is invited because she’s a Victor, but she mostly goes to support her brother.

After a month or so, things calm down again.

And then one day in September Truffle insists she join him for a walk after sparring. It’s already dark out, but the view clearly isn’t the point. “I haven’t asked, but is Gloss a virgin?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. He hasn’t had sex in her house; he hasn’t had any girls or boys over at all. But what he did before she won, what he does elsewhere, she has no idea.

Truffle sighs. “If he isn’t, he’d damn well better learn how to pretend, at least his first time.”

Cashmere nods. If Caesar buys them it’ll be fine, but if he doesn’t… 

“I have to tell him about the sex, give him time to get used to the idea.”

“I don’t want him to know about me.”

Truffle looks at her with sympathetic eyes. “The instant I mention what’s expected, he’ll figure it out. He’s intelligent enough to put the pieces together. And the truth is, he has to know. It would be unethical to throw him into your situation without warning, and it could lead to a disaster.”

She groans. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m going to tell him tomorrow afternoon. I suggest you make yourself available somewhere the cameras and microphones aren’t.”

Cashmere nods. Truffle is right. She’ll do as he asks.

**oOo**

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cashmere tears her gaze away from the five-year-olds practicing basic wrestling moves in the Training Center yard and looks down at Gloss. She’s up a tree with a good view of the yard, one she always liked seeing when she was training. She told Truffle where she would be, and he’s sent Gloss to her. She shrugs. “Why do you think?”

“You didn’t want me to know.” He tugs at his hair with both hands. “This is… this is obscene, Cash. Fucking obscene.”

“Congratulations, now you know how fucked up the Capitol is.”

He looks around, then swings himself up and joins her in the tree. “Are you sleeping with any of them willingly?”

She shrugs again. “Caesar.”

“Your _soulmate_.”

With a glare at Gloss for his tone, she says, “If he had the option, he’d buy my services exclusively and then give me the choice.”

Gloss eyes her. “You trust him that much?”

“The second time he bought me.” She says the words without flinching. Gloss flinches instead. “The first night we were in the Capitol this year, right after the parade. That envelope I hid from you.” He nods slowly. “He bought twelve hours of my time and didn’t demand a thing. We slept together -- and I do mean slept, not _slept_ \-- had breakfast, and talked. He was perfectly happy. So yes, I trust him. He knows how I feel about you. He’ll probably buy you whenever he can, if only to give you a day off.”

Gloss flinches again when she says ‘buy you.’ Unsurprising; he hasn’t had much time to get used to the idea. “How do you live with it?”

“There isn’t a choice. Say no, and people start dying. Keep saying no, and everyone dies, and you have to do it anyway. There’s always someone to hold over your head. Parents, family, friends, acquaintances. The whole district if they have to. I know Truffle told you about Haymitch.”

“And Noire and Grigio.”

She nods. “Suicide’s the only way out, but even then, they can punish your loved ones. Besides, we’re Victors. Survivors. If any of us were going to lie down and die, it would have been after our first kills, not now.”

Gloss shudders. “I keep seeing them. Taylor.” The girl from Eight, Cashmere remembers, his only kill during the bloodbath. “Cocoa. And Chuck.”

With dark humor, she says, “At least you only have three. I have twice as many.” _Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle._

His brow furrows. “You only killed five in the Games.”

_Shit._

“This is a secret, okay?” She waits for his nod. “But… why do you think One and Two’s tributes are always so prepared? Sure, some of the kids from other districts can kill without hesitation, or figure it out when they have to. But a lot try and fail. Even Four, Careers that they are, aren’t always successful. But One and Two never hesitate.”

His eyes are wide. “You’d killed before.”

“Yeah. It’s the final test.” When Gloss opens his mouth again, she holds up a hand. “I’m not telling you any more, so don’t ask.”

He seems poised to argue but finally accepts her answer. “I still can’t -- I just -- _prostitution_?” he asks with a whine.

“And more, if Truffle told you about Noire and Grigio.”

“But you’re my sister. My _twin_.”

“And about to be your fuckbuddy.”

He covers his ears. “Don’t say that!”

Ah, innocence. Cashmere remembers when she was innocent. It feels like forever and a lifetime ago. “I wasn’t sure -- are you a virgin?”

Gloss blushes. “No. I, uh. There was a girl, a couple months before the Reaping.” His smile is fond.

_Oh, thank goodness._ Cashmere feels a strong surge of relief that she won’t be his first, that he already had what seems like a good experience. It’s going to be fucked up enough; they don’t need to make it worse.

“She wanted a last hurrah before her last Reaping and… I did too.” He doesn’t name the girl.

Cashmere doesn’t ask. At least, not her name. “Are you in love with her?”

“No. I mean, I thought about it, and maybe if she’d come up pregnant I’d have married her, but… no.”

“Good.” She taps her fingers against the tree trunk. “She’s the only one, then? No men?”

“Why would I have sex with men?”

_Oh, Gloss_. “Congratulations. You’re about to learn.”

**oOo**

And with that, Gloss starts his instruction in all things sexual. Cashmere doesn’t participate; as Shiny taught her, so Truffle is teaching Gloss. It’s part of a mentor’s job, apparently.

Cashmere seriously considers asking Gloss to, well, have sex with her while they’re still in District One. It’s not something she feels ready for, but she also knows that doesn’t matter. The Victory Tour is coming, and with it everything they’ll be forced to do. Wouldn’t it be better if they have some experience first? Wouldn’t it be better if their first time isn’t in front of an audience expecting them to perform?

...As horrific as that thought is.

There’s a big problem, though: they have no real privacy. Everyone knows the Victors’ houses are bugged, and there’s cameras and microphones throughout the Village. They can get some privacy for conversations if they’re outdoors and quiet, but that doesn’t apply to anything that can be seen. Gloss is expected to be a virgin. He’s not, but him having sex near the cameras could be seen as flouting the Capitol. So that’s entirely out.

They could go back to their parents’ old house -- no one lives there since it’s still technically their legal address -- but Cashmere quite honestly never wants to set foot in that place ever again. Besides, where would they do it? Their parents’ bed? Gloss’s childhood bed? The sofa in the living room where Cashmere slept whenever she visited once there was no space for her in the room with her sisters? It’s a terrible idea.

Cashmere certainly isn’t going to ask a friend. All her friends are Victors, so their houses are bugged too, and what would Gloss’s friends say? No one outside the Victors can know.

That just leaves the great outdoors. They could take a hike to somewhere random and do it outside. But that could be uncomfortable and awkward. And then winter comes early, in mid-October, and that’s not even an option anymore.

It doesn’t help that every time she starts to have the conversation with Gloss, he stops her. Or they’re near the bugs, or they get interrupted. He’s not handling this well at all -- not that she can blame him, but… there isn’t a choice. The only choices are the ones they steal.

Gloss… doesn’t get that yet. Maybe that’s another function of him not growing up in the Center. He had choices as a kid and a teen that she just didn’t have. And now he doesn’t have those choices anymore.

Pushing is stressing their bond. He’s alive and a Victor, but at what cost? Cashmere hopes they can regain some of it. 

By the time the summons comes, she’s almost had the conversation with Gloss twelve times. But almost doesn’t count.

She’s going back to the Capitol, and soon Gloss will be there too.

If she wants to avoid their first time being a performance, she’s only got one more chance.

**oOo**

Cashmere’s summoned back to the Capitol a week before the Victory Tour begins, which means almost three weeks of fucking before she’ll get to see Gloss again.

Before he’ll be truly introduced to this world.

Caesar doesn’t buy her; none of the white envelopes delivered to One’s rooms bear his name. She hopes that means he’s saved up for when Gloss is there. 

She doesn’t get the chance to ask him; she’s too busy bed-hopping and bar-hopping. Plus, another two-day stay in the hospital while they remake her torn-up skin, so she gets to watch the Victory Tour as it goes through Districts Nine and Eight. Honestly, no matter how much being injured enough to end up in the hospital sucks, it’s better than the whoring. She understands why Haymitch drinks so much, why the Victors from Six are addicted to morphling. It’s not the path she wants to take, but she can see how it would happen.

Occasionally she runs into another Victor -- Enobaria, who won the year before her, is there from the start, while Barlie from Nine and Lumen from Five, Victors of the 59th and 60th Games, show up after the Victory Tour stops at their districts. The four of them are the newest and youngest crowd of Victors, and therefore the most in demand.

And then Gloss is there.

There’s the interview and the banquet, and when they return to their rooms afterward, there are two white envelopes and two red roses on the silver tray.

Cashmere takes hers and hesitates a moment before opening it. She knows what she’s hoping. She doesn’t know if she’ll get it.

Gloss opens his. His brow furrows. He looks… confused, glancing between his summons and her.

She has to know. Opening the envelope, she pulls out the paper.

It’s the name she hoped for.

She holds out a hand, and Gloss hands her his summons. _Oh, thank goodness_.

Truffle looks at them both, his eyes flicking between them. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “Gloss, you haven’t seen the roof yet. The view is magnificent.”

“Oh yes,” Cashmere agrees.

Gloss knows her fake voice, but he’s willing to work with them. They troop into the elevator and go up to the twelfth floor, then the roof.

Once they’re outside, Gloss looks at Truffle. “Am I free to talk here?” When the older man nods, he glares at his sister. “Cashmere, darling, why is your soulmate buying me for…” he trails off without saying the word.

Truffle’s eyes widen as he stares at her. She hands him both summonses. His jaw drops. “You…”

“Yes.”

“That explains a lot.”

Cashmere nods. 

“But _why_?” Gloss asks again.

“Because it was the only thing I could do for you. You’ll have a choice. For one night, you’ll have a choice.” She strengthens her resolve: they have to have this conversation _now_. “Besides, you’ve been putting me off for months now. We’re going to have to have sex, Gloss.” He flinches. “There isn’t a choice. It’s going to happen, and it’s going to happen this week. I don’t want it any more than you do, but our choices are to do it or to watch everyone in our family die and then still have to do it. Caesar gave me the choice last year. At least with him, we can have sex without an audience for our first time.”

Truffle nods slowly. “She’s right, Gloss. It’s going to happen.”

Gloss’s hands are clenching and unclenching. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

“First, because you weren’t talking to me about that.” He looks away at her glare. “And second, because I didn’t know if he would manage it. He didn’t know if he’d be allowed, since he bought my virginity last year. I have no idea how much it cost to buy yours, and me the same night, but I’m sure it was expensive.”

“She’s right. He probably paid a fortune.” Truffle laughs. “Lucky he has one, isn’t it?” He looks Cashmere up and down. “Where on earth are you hiding a soulmark? I’ve seen you naked.”

“Makeup, Truffle.” She gestures to her upper arm. “I’m very careful with the makeup.”

“She has to be,” Gloss agrees. “Her mark is… weird.”

Truffle looks between them.

With a sigh, Cashmere says, “It changes color. Gold this year, pale pink last, aqua the year before, dark red before that--”

“I guessed who it was when we were nine,” Gloss interrupts. 

Cashmere groans, secretly pleased that Gloss is joking with her like normal. “Don’t remind me of that hideous orange.”

Truffle smiles at them. “You two will be okay, won’t you?”

“For tonight, yes.” Cashmere checks the time. “And speaking of, we’d better go get ready.”

  
**oOo**


	10. Two Lost Souls

**oOo**

Caesar greets her with a hand out of the limousine and a kiss to her cheek. He doesn’t offer Gloss the same, just a nod once he climbs out. Gloss nods in return. His body language is defensive, closed.

Cashmere sighs. “You’re going to have to get a lot better at acting very very quickly,” she warns her twin.

After a moment, he nods and visibly relaxes. His smile to Caesar looks only a bit forced, which is better than it was before. He offers a hand. “Pleased to see you again.”

Caesar shakes it. “Yes, of course. You as well. Come in, come in. Cashmere, my dear, will you show your brother the waterfall?”

“Of course, once I have my lovely pink coat.” Her outfit is really not appropriate for the weather. Gloss’s is better, but not by much.

“As you wish.” Caesar hands her two coats -- her pale pink one and a gold one which she knows immediately will fit Gloss perfectly. Caesar prepared for this.

After they put the coats on, Cashmere leads Gloss to the yard. That same rock facing the waterfall is once again cleared off, and she gently tugs Gloss to sit down next to her, leaving space on her other side for Caesar as long as they all sit close. “If we talk quietly, we’re fine,” she murmurs.

“Ah.” He’s shaking slightly. Probably not from the cold; it’s too soon for that. But almost certainly from what they’re here to do.

Cashmere wishes she could help him. 

When Caesar joins them, he offers them each a warm mug. Cashmere sips hers; it’s mulled cider. She can’t taste any alcohol. That’s probably a good thing. As much as she’d like to be drunk, it would be a bad idea for this conversation and for what needs to happen tonight.

A few minutes pass in silence.

“Well, this is awkward,” Gloss finally says. He clutches his mug.

Caesar grins. “Yes.” He looks at Gloss over Cashmere’s head, leaning in close so he can be heard despite keeping his voice low. “Everything we do tonight will be your choice.”

“Why are you doing this?” Gloss asks him. His hands are pressed against his mug so tightly his knuckles are white. “Do you even like men? Or me?”

With a shrug, Caesar says, “Not particularly. As for why I’m doing it, she asked.”

Leaning her head against Caesar’s shoulder, Cashmere tries to send him all her love and thanks through that one touch. She hates that she had to ask Caesar to do this when it isn’t his preference. But she needs Gloss to be able to handle it, and Caesar’s the best option. After everything she’s gone through, everything she’s sacrificed to keep them all alive and safe, she can’t watch her family or friends die because Gloss won’t bend to the Capitol’s will.

She’s a little comforted by the one fact that Caesar could have said no. Unlike her and Gloss, he always has the option to say no. Yes, she asked him. But he could have said no. And even if he hadn’t wanted to disappoint her openly, he could have lied and told her he wasn’t able to buy Gloss’s supposed virginity. He can still refuse to have sex with Gloss, and she won’t say a thing. They can always pass it off with their next client as Caesar only watching them rather than fucking Gloss himself, or they can ask one of the other male Victors to be Gloss’s first in that.

Cashmere avoids looking at either her twin or her soulmate. “We need to do this, Gloss. You and me. It will be easier, I think, in a controlled situation. Without having to perform as well as…” she forces herself to say the word, “fuck.” She feels the press of two bodies beside her and lets their warmth seep in. “We’re not going to get choices in the future, Gloss, at least not often.”

“I still don’t--”

“I know.” With that, Cashmere turns to face her brother. His eyes shine with love for her. The wrong kind of love, or maybe the right kind. The kind he should feel but not the kind the Capitol wants. But it’s still love. Leaning up, she kisses him on the lips. “No matter what, you’ll always be my twin.”

He clutches her hand. “And you’re mine.”

**oOo**

The next morning, Cashmere wakes up sandwiched between her two favorite men. 

She and Gloss got through the night, stopping and starting until they finally completed the necessary act. After they finished, Gloss cried.

Cashmere didn’t. She’s already too broken, she supposes. Maybe she’s stronger than her brother.

Or maybe she’s weaker.

She wishes she could have helped him more, but there was little she could do. Not when she was part of his torment, no matter how unwilling.

She’s glad he had a chance to cry, though. They’re going to have to perform soon. Pretend this is what they want. It’s not, of course. The idea of having sex with her twin brother is still appalling and always will be, even after having done it once. But they have roles to fulfill, and they’re going to have to fulfill them. She’s thankful Caesar bought them this privacy for their first time.

Caesar didn’t participate. In fact, he left them alone in his bedroom and read in the living room while Cashmere and Gloss practiced. He only returned to the bedroom when Cashmere came to get him, wanting him to join her for sleep. If she hadn’t, she has no doubt he’d have stayed away all night.

Rolling over, she catches Gloss’s eye -- he’s awake and watching her. “How are you doing?” she asks.

He shrugs. Tear marks still streak his cheeks. “Okay, I guess.”

“Is there anything else you want to do? The summons said we’re here until noon, and it’s early yet.”

Gloss takes a deep breath. “I should probably learn about sex with men.” He looks at Caesar over her where she lies between them. “Will you?”

Caesar nods. “If you want, of course.” He kisses Cashmere, which she happily accepts, thankful he’s willing to go through with this. “And after, I’ll order waffles.” He grins. “With strawberries and whipped cream.”

“I prefer blueberries,” Gloss says. In his voice is a challenge.

Caesar meets it. “Then we’ll have blueberries too.” He holds a hand out to Gloss. “Tell me what you need.”

Cashmere stays as still and silent as possible. This isn’t about her. She’s just here for support.

Gloss takes a long slow breath and accepts Caesar’s hand.

**oOo**

“I see why you like him,” Gloss breaks the silence in the limousine on the way back to the Training Center.

Cashmere nods and glances pointedly at what she knows is a microphone. “I do.”

He touches her upper arm over her soulmark. “He’s a good man.”

That means a lot. “I think so, anyway.”

They’re greeted at their rooms by Truffle and Silverbelle, who came to the Capitol a few days before, summoned for her usual winter liaisons. There’s already two more white envelopes waiting for them, and Cashmere sighs as she opens hers. “It’s going to be a whirlwind week, isn’t it?”

Truffle nods. “I’m afraid it is.”

“Wonderful.” Cashmere turns to Gloss, comparing his summons to hers. The names are the same. “Brace yourself. It’s not going to be easy.”

**oOo**

She was right: it isn’t easy at all.

Even more than last year, this year is one liaison after another, until Cashmere wonders if she’s slept with half the Capitol.

She’s had sex with her brother five times. At least that happens with a certain amount of discretion; it won’t be on the news, even if the dates before the sex will be. She wonders if even the Capitol has some sense of discretion or maybe shame -- showing incest might be one step too far for the national news. After all, people in the districts might suspect something is actually wrong if they saw such a thing, rather than the usual assumption of all Victors immediately turning into party animals the instant their Victory Tours happen.

Even without the sex being shown, Cashmere knows she’s going to face hell from her parents over dragging Gloss into her supposed degenerate lifestyle. There’s no way they’ll blame the golden boy when she’s right there.

Oh well. It’s a damn good thing she doesn’t live in the same house as them anymore. She can put up with them when she has to for her siblings’ sake.

When the week is over, the four Victors return to District One for the final stop of the Victory Tour and the annual winter holiday. Truffle asks -- and gets -- permission to tell the other Victors about her soulmark.

And life… goes back to normal.

Cashmere was right; her mother refuses to speak to her anymore. Luckily for Cashmere, her mother’s attempts to remove Silk and Brilliance from her ‘degenerate influence’ don’t work -- which is good, since she loves those kids. Instead, they reach a truce where Cashmere and her parents just don’t talk to each other. At all.

Gloss fully joins the Victors. He may not have trained, but he survived the Games, and that’s what counts. He’s one of them. And now that he’s experienced the worst the Capitol has to offer, he starts pulling away from his other friends as much as Cashmere would have had she had other friends to pull away from. Family is still family and always will be. But friends… they have the Victors, and that’ll have to be enough.

**oOo**


	11. Poor Wand’ring One

**oOo**

The next year, District One doesn’t have a Victor.

Cashmere can’t say she’s surprised; with her and Gloss two years in a row, everyone else wants a shot. District One’s tributes don’t stand a chance.

Ultimately, the crown goes to a seventeen-year-old from Eight named Cecelia. She’s a quiet little thing who spends most of the Games hiding. But when it counts, she kills, and she’s a Victor now. 

It’s impossible to win the Games unless you kill. The Capitol simply won’t allow it. You can kill only once, but you have to kill. No one escapes the Arena without blood on their hands.

_Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle._

Barlie’s popularity wanes and Lumen’s slows down, but Cashmere and Gloss’s doesn’t. Cecelia doesn’t make much of a flash -- she’s too quiet, too shy, too self-effacing. She only spends a single week going to appointments (virginity will sell, no matter how otherwise unappealing you are) before her clients drop precipitously and she’s allowed to go off and marry her childhood sweetheart. The engagement is announced on the nightly news.

Cashmere burns with jealousy.

Okay, so she doesn’t have a high school sweetheart. She doesn’t have a sweetheart at all. But Cecelia at least gets to pretend to live a normal life and attempt to be happy.

“Don’t be too jealous of her,” Golda tells Cashmere after sparring practice a few nights after the engagement is announced. With eight Victors, they can all participate every time -- Golda might be in her seventies, but she’s still spry. She downs half a bottle of water and wipes her face off with a towel. “She mentioned in that last interview she wants to have kids.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Golda shrugs, a so-so motion. “Sort of. I guarantee, in fifteen or twenty years, at least one of her kids will be Reaped. And that child won’t survive. Children of Victors never do. Another twenty or thirty years, and it’ll be a grandchild. Maybe more than one.”

Cashmere frowns. It sounds like Golda speaks from personal experience. “Did you…” she trails off, unsure how to phrase it. Unsure if she even wants to ask.

“My eldest, in the 28th Games.”

Cashmere doesn’t ask if her eldest was Reaped or chose to volunteer.

“It’s one way we’re better off than most districts. We always have volunteers now. Three of my grandchildren were Reaped, but all of them were replaced by volunteers. Sparkle, Onyx, Truffle -- they’ve all been able to raise families without that fear, once they were off Snow’s list. Each of them had a child Reaped, but none actually went to the Games. Cecelia won’t have that. No one in Eight will volunteer for her child. Yes, she’s off the whoring circuit now, but give it a few years and you will be too.”

Hugging herself, Cashmere says, “I’m worried we’ll be popular forever.”

“You’ll last longer than normal. I won’t lie to you about that. Even once you age past the Capitol’s preferred youth, you’re still twins. But one day it will be over.”

**oOo**

The next year, Cashmere thinks One has a shot. Sateen and Glaze are both very qualified candidates.

The instant she sees the too-beautiful fourteen-year-old from Four, she knows she’s wrong.

Finnick Odair may be only fourteen, but the Capitol wants him. And what the Capitol wants, the Capitol gets. _He’d ace presentation_ , she thinks wryly when he has his interview with Caesar. The kid knows how to play to the crowds. If he can remotely back that up with combat and survival skills, he’ll win for sure. And then wake up to a lifetime of hell.

It’s Cashmere’s twenty-first birthday, and she feels immensely old.

Both Sateen and Glaze blow off her warning; they figure Finnick’s just a kid. Neither of them sees his threat. Glaze even mocks her, calling her a ‘Capitol party-girl’ and asking what she would know.

_Oh you sweet summer child_. She laughs. If only he knew.

She’s right, of course. The Capitol loves that poor child so much that they give Mags enough money to buy him a fucking trident of all things. Mags picks well; he’s a fiend with a trident and a net.

Before Cashmere can blink, Sateen and Glaze are dead and Finnick is the Victor.

At the Victory Banquet, she manages to plead a need for the ladies’ room when she notices Mags heading in that direction. Gloss, not knowing why she wants to go but willing to run with it, distracts their ‘date’ for the night while she disappears.

She’s waiting when Mags emerges and gently steers the old woman to the garden. They keep moving as they talk in low voices. “If he needs help with… adjusting… feel free to send him to me and Gloss.”

Mags nods. “I might. It’s been a while for any of us.” Four’s last Victor was Oceana, who won eleven years ago in the 54th Games. Oceana is strong but not beautiful; she was almost certainly sold, but probably only for a year or two. Cashmere and Gloss, still popular only three years after her Games and two years after his, know more about the current status of the Capitol. Besides, the only Victor closer in age to Finnick is Cecelia, who doesn’t have the same experiences at all.

“Good.” She tries to figure out how to say what she needs to before blurting it out. “Did Golda ever tell you what happened to Noire and Grigio?”

Mags raises an eyebrow. “I was already a mentor then, child.”

Cashmere blushes. “Right. Of course. But…” She bites her lip. “The sister they interviewed. The one who they included in the three hour highlights. How old is she?”

“Thirteen, I believe. Why?”

Her heart clenches. “The Capitol wants her. They wouldn’t have included her in the highlights otherwise. If you don’t want those two to end up like me and Gloss, or like Noire and Grigio, I suggest you make sure you have female volunteers every year until she’s safe from the Reaping. Every year, you hear me? He’ll be in demand enough without her. With her…” Cashmere knows perfectly well that any girl who replaces Finnick’s younger sister will die because she will not be who the Capitol wants. She also knows she can’t let Finnick and his sister end up where she and Gloss are without trying to stop it.

Mags takes a long slow look at Cashmere before nodding. “I will.” 

Cashmere breathes out a long sigh. “Good.”

**oOo**

For the first time, Cashmere and Gloss are allowed to stay in District One through part of the Victory Tour. Once Finnick leaves, they’ll be joining his train, but they don’t have to go to the Capitol early.

They’ll just have to stay late. How lovely.

The kid looks like an automaton as he gives his speech. He’s going through the motions. He winces every time he looks at Glaze’s picture or family -- unsurprising given that Glaze was one of his kills in the Games. Cashmere knows the feeling well.

She manages to finagle her way onto the tour of the district by flirting with the Mayor, who’s always been a sucker for younger women, especially pretty ones. Getting him to do what she wants is child’s play.

The tour is an interesting perspective on District One. Cashmere has often felt like she doesn’t belong, like she stands apart from her district, and the tour amazes her with how much she didn’t know about her home. 

By the time they pause at a jeweler’s workshop -- the Mayor is flirting with the owner’s daughter and District Four’s escort is trying on necklaces -- Finnick simply looks dazed. Cashmere sympathizes.

Cashmere catches his attention and walks over to him. “How are you holding up?”

He looks up at her, but it’s not very far to look. The only reason she’s taller than him right now is because of the heels she’s wearing, and he’s still all arms and legs in that way which means he hasn’t reached his full growth yet. He may even end up taller than Gloss. He shrugs, his lip curling into his already-trademark sexy slow grin. “I’m holding up.”

Her eyes flick to Mags, who murmurs, “I told him what the Capitol will expect of him.” She emphasizes the last word just the tiniest bit.

Cashmere hears what she doesn’t say: she didn’t tell Finnick the details about her and Gloss, and she didn’t tell him about the potential for his sister to end up his fuck-partner. It’s probably for the best; he’s already overwhelmed, and telling him that might push him over the edge. It’s enough to work with. “You’re not the only one.” The word ‘kid’ almost comes out, but she stops before it does. She’d never felt less like a child than after Shiny told her what was expected; he probably feels the same.

He doesn’t seem to know what to say, so she continues speaking, keeping her voice low. “If you ever need anything -- advice, a sympathetic ear, the rundown on which Capitol fucker likes what -- come to me or Gloss. We’ve been where you are. You’re one of us now.”

“But I killed…” He mouths Glaze’s name but can’t seem to bring himself to actually say it.

“Yeah, and I killed the girl from Four in my Games.” _Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle._ “We’re not going to hold it against you.”

He smiles his show-smile at her. It does nothing for her, and he seems to realize that. “You’re not attracted to me at all, are you?”

“You’re pretty, I won’t lie. But I’ve been where you are. It would be obscene. Besides, you’re younger than two of my siblings -- three if you count Gloss -- and that’s just plain creepy.”

“The Capitol doesn’t think so.”

“The Capitol can go fuck itself.”

Mags looks at her with an assessing eye. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by the escort, who’s now wearing a brand-new gold and garnet necklace. It clashes terribly with her fuchsia skin, bronze tattoos, and sapphire blue curls. The workshop owner looks very pleased -- he must have sold that for a pretty penny. Cashmere approves.

With a sigh, Cashmere turns to follow the escort. “Just remember, if you need anything in the Capitol, Gloss and I will be there for the rest of the Victory Tour. Feel free to stop by our floor in the Training Center.”

Finnick nods. “Thanks.”

**oOo**

He comes by, the morning after his virginity is stolen, and sobs on Cashmere’s shoulder. He actually fits in her lap, curled up as small as he is. She pretends he’s Silk or Brilliance and comforts him as she would them, and he seems to appreciate being treated like a child rather than a sexual being. At not-quite-fifteen he _is_ a child, no matter what the Capitol thinks.

She doesn’t give him false platitudes, doesn’t tell him it will get better. Instead she just says “I’m here” and holds him while he cries.

Gloss calls Mags, and the three of them do what they can for Finnick.

Unfortunately, Mags already has another white envelope with Finnick’s name on it, and eventually there’s no choice but for him to go get ready. If he doesn’t, someone he loves will pay, and every single one of them knows it.

“I’m glad we had…” Gloss trails off, glancing at one of the microphones, and instead gestures at Cashmere’s upper arm where her soulmark -- midnight blue this year -- sits. “Thank you for…” he stumbles for the words, “arranging it.”

“Oh, it was terrible,” Cashmere says without any qualms. She likes Caesar, but the lack of choice had fucked her up, and what they’d had to do when Gloss won had fucked her up more. “But not so terrible as this.”

Gloss nods in agreement. 

**oOo**


	12. One Song Glory

**oOo**

The next year, the Victor is a wild-eyed sixteen-year-old from District Seven. Cashmere isn’t certain if Johanna Mason was hiding her skills all along by pretending to be weak or if she was actually terrified until the Games brought out something that was hidden.

The truth is, it doesn’t really matter. Johanna Mason, just like all of them, will have to live with what she’s done in order to survive.

At least she gets to go back home to her soulmate. Her words were obvious from the very start, considering they’re a bright sky-blue mark on the back of her left hand. With no gloves and no makeup in the Arena, Johanna wasn’t able to hide the mark, and she didn’t bother trying.

The night after Johanna’s post-Games interview with Caesar, Cashmere lies in his arms. “Lucky her, getting to go home to her soulmate.” Johanna mentioned it in her interview the night before -- she knows her soulmate and intends to spend her life with him. This was his last Reaping, too, so he’s safe from the Games.

Caesar shakes his head. “I’m not so certain. There was something in her eyes… I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Johanna Mason.” He kisses the back of her neck. “Besides, if you think having a soulmate would stop anyone from--”

“Yeah, that was a stupid thought,” Cashmere agrees. It might even be worse, in a way, having such a publicly-known soulmate. Capitolites might see it as a challenge. It certainly wouldn’t stop President Snow. “I just… I sometimes wish…”

Caesar smiles wryly. “I’m an old man, Cashmere. I’m glad I get anything with you.”

She isn’t sure how to reply to that. He’s right, but sometimes -- often -- she wants more. She isn’t sure what, though. Instead, she just lets herself drift into sleep.

The next morning, Gloss joins them for breakfast. Caesar paid for his time as well, but he spent the night in the guestroom. He seems refreshed. “Thank you,” he says to Caesar, who just looks awkward.

Cashmere laughs gaily and pitches her voice to be picked up by whatever microphones might be in Caesar’s house. “Time for breakfast with my two favorite men!”

**oOo**

Cashmere wishes Caesar wasn’t right, but he is. And worse, it seems like Blight didn’t fully educate Johanna as to what’s expected of Victors -- or she thought having a publicly-known soulmate would get her out of the whoring.

Her Victory Tour ends in a fiasco, with Johanna announcing that she and her soulmate got married, and no, they hadn’t invited anyone -- including the Capitol or President Snow -- to the wedding. She seems almost gleeful and definitely vengeful.

Cashmere and Gloss exchange a glance when they watch the announcement. Caesar’s trying to save the Victory Tour, but he’s not a miracle worker.

Exactly how badly is this going to go?

**oOo**

For the first time ever, Cashmere and Gloss have the time to learn about mentoring. They’re not the main mentors -- they still don’t have the time for that, let alone the experience -- but they can take short shifts so Silverbelle and Shiny can have breaks. Of course, the older Victors help as well. Golda’s enough of a night owl that she prefers the overnight shifts, which is good, because someone has to do them.

Cashmere wonders how the other districts manage. Two has plenty of Victors, of course, and Four has enough even with Finnick being too busy. But none of the other districts have more than five living Victors, and a lot have far fewer. Haymitch Abernathy is Twelve’s only living Victor. How does he manage?

She asks Truffle, who’s showing her and Gloss the ropes on the second day of the 67th Games. It’s early morning, before the Capitol really gets moving, so they’re not expecting much to happen right now. The tributes will be sleeping, and it’s far too early for a Gamemaker trap.

Truffle chuckles. “Oh, he doesn’t, really. Spends most of the Games drunk. Half the time, both his tributes die in the bloodbath anyway, and the rest of the time they don’t live much longer. I think he’s had someone make it to the Final Eight once in the last sixteen years. As for the rest, they often manage with one Victor on call for both tributes -- assuming both tributes are alive -- so they can take turns sleeping and getting sponsors, or they trade favors with districts who are out.” He gestures to Seeder, who’s sitting at District Five’s station. “Two years ago, Five’s tributes both died in the bloodbath, so they helped Eleven. This year, with Eleven already out, they’re returning the favor. It’s a complicated system of who owes who and who needs a favor, but it’s not one you have to worry about. We used to be part of it, back when I won and we had only four Victors, but since first Shiny and then Silverbelle came on, we haven’t needed the help. Besides, none of the others like to owe the Career Districts a favor, so we’ve stepped out of the system.”

It does sound complicated. Cashmere opens her mouth to ask another question when there’s a scream.

Johanna Mason is staring at her left hand in horror, screaming her head off.

Cashmere catches a glimpse; the once sky-blue letters are now dark gray. Her heart sinks. Johanna’s soulmate is dead. Oh, she’s sure it’ll be passed off as an accident, but the message is clear: you belong to the Capitol, not to your soulmate.

Johanna bolts from the room, and Blight runs after her. Cecelia, six months pregnant and moving awkwardly, says something quiet to Woof before taking the few steps from Eight’s station to Seven’s to take over watching their tribute.

Cashmere quickly catalogs everyone in the room. As far as she’s aware, she, Haymitch Abernathy, and Johanna Mason are the only Victors with soulmates. Haymitch is useless; he’s passed out in his chair at Twelve’s station, a bottle of rotgut half-spilled on the floor next to him. That leaves her.

Leaning over to Gloss and Truffle, she murmurs, “I should go help.”

Gloss does a double-take. “Why?”

Rolling her eyes, she taps her soulmark.

“Oh.”

“It’s not the same situation, but…”

Truffle nods. “I think you’re right. Good luck.”

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Gloss trills, imitating District One’s escort perfectly. Enobaria, sitting at the District Two station a few feet away, cackles and toasts him with her coffee.

It doesn’t take her long to find Johanna and Blight; she just follows the sound of Johanna cursing -- herself, the Capitol, Panem as a whole. Anyone she can. Johanna’s in a cleaning closet, breaking a different piece of cleaning equipment with each shout. Blight’s standing awkwardly in the hallway, letting her throw abuse at him because he clearly doesn’t know what else to do. He sends Cashmere a panicked look when she arrives. “Is Fern--”

“Your girl is fine, as far as I’m aware. Cecelia took over your station.” The male tribute from Seven died in the bloodbath; Blight only has one tribute left to look after.

His shoulders drop from their tense position, but he still looks nervous. Johanna’s switched to half-crying, half-cursing, and Blight really doesn’t seem like the type to handle crying people well. He slowly backs down the hall, and once he’s far enough away, he makes a break for it back in the direction of Mentor Central.

“Why the fuck are  _ you _ here?” Johanna snaps.

Cashmere doesn’t take it personally. She’d be screaming in the same situation. She thinks about how to handle this; what worked with Finnick isn’t going to work with Johanna. Lucky Cashmere’s good at reading people. “Because Blight isn’t good with people, we have enough Victors in One that they don’t need me in Mentor Central, and…” she glances around. No obvious cameras or microphones. She lowers her voice anyway. “And only so many of us have soulmates.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Cashmere snorts. “Not here. Come on. I’ll take you somewhere we can talk.”

Johanna stares at her for a second, then screams one last time and shatters a mop. It’ll have to be replaced, but that’s someone else’s problem. Cashmere doesn’t bother trying to fix it or even finding someone to do so. Instead she just leads Johanna back to the elevator, up to the twelfth floor, and to the roof.

The wind is loud on this hot summer day, and Cashmere waves. “The microphones don’t do well in all this moving air.”

“I told you to prove it.” Johanna crosses her arms over her chest.

Cashmere pulls off her jacket and shifts her sleeve, then starts rubbing the layers of makeup off her mark. It’s a sunny yellow this year, a bit too bright for her tastes, and not one of Caesar’s best colors -- but it shows through the flaking makeup quickly. “I have a soulmate. We’ve met, we’ve even slept together. But if you think that’s stopped the Capitol from doing what they want, you’re wrong.”

“Oh really?”

“What, you think I fuck my brother because I want to?” Johanna flinches back, and Cashmere tilts her head. “Ah, Blight didn’t pass that one on, did he.”

Johanna’s arms wrap tighter around herself. “No.”

What she’s doing -- challenging instead of comforting -- is working. “Life is shit, Mason. Being a Victor fucking sucks. But I’ll tell you what my mentor told me. You’re a Victor, which means you’re a survivor. None of us have it in us to just lie down and die, or we’d have done it in the Games. I’m sorry your soulmate is dead. But at least you got a year with him.”

Tears leak from Johanna’s eyes. “I don’t have anyone left.”

It’s on the tip of Cashmere’s tongue to ask about Johanna’s family -- what happened to them, that she has no one left? -- but she decides not to. That’s a too-personal question. Instead she stares out at the city, the outward beauty which covers but doesn’t hide the inner rot. She feels Johanna coming up beside her. It’s part of being a Victor. Survive the Games and you’ll watch for threats forever.

Sometimes Cashmere is amazed she manages to let Capitolites do what they want to her, considering her instincts. Proof positive of just how much she knows people she cares about will suffer if she doesn’t.

Glancing at the bright yellow mark, Johanna asks, “How many of us have soulmates anyway?”

“You, me, Haymitch Abernathy. His is dead too -- she was his district partner in the Games.” Cashmere isn’t surprised Johanna winces. “That’s it, as far as I know. If anyone else has one, they’re keeping it quiet.”

“And mine and Haymitch’s are -- dead.” Her voice cracks on the word. “So who’s your soulmate? Someone back in One?”

With a smirk, Cashmere lifts her arm so Johanna can read the words. “Not exactly.”

After a moment, she says, “Fucking hell. Isn’t he… old?”

“Yes.” Cashmere pulls her sleeve back down. She’ll replace the makeup later. “I never said it was perfect, Mason.”

“So what’s your advice, Dubois?” Johanna challenges. There’s fire in her eyes. Good.

“All we can do is live. It sucks. It fucking sucks. Be glad you had the time you did, and that you were able to choose who you gave your virginity to -- you did have sex with your soulmate, didn’t you?”

Johanna, incongruously, blushes. “Yes.”

“Good. You got to choose that. You got a year with him. And you do have people. You have Blight and the rest of us. Victors stick together.”

“Even if my tribute kills yours?”

“Of course. No one else has been where we are. They don’t get it. So yeah, if your tribute kills mine? It sucks. But it’s not worth ruining friendships with the only people who get it.” Cashmere knows she sounds callous, like she’s dismissing the deaths of children. But the truth is, most of those kids are going to die. Twenty-four go in; one comes out. That’s the rule. The Victors didn’t choose this, and they might as well hold onto what little good they have.

Johanna nods slowly. She’s still leaking tears. But she’s standing there with her head held high, like she can fight the world and win. “I’m going to kill that fucking monster one day. Let him see what it feels like.” Her voice is angry; her face is mulish. She’s determined. If she’s lucky, she might even be able to do it.

Good. Cashmere’s seen too many broken Victors -- the morphlings from Six, Haymitch Abernathy, even Finnick sobbing on her shoulder last year. She’s glad to see Johanna taking a different path.

**oOo**


	13. Another Hundred People

**oOo**

The next few years pass quickly. Word comes around that Johanna’s soulmate died in a ‘lumber accident’ which absolutely no one believes.

Golda dies in her sleep just before the 68th Hunger Games. All of District One mourns, but life goes on. Sparkle, just turned sixty but as fit as ever, takes on the mantle of One’s senior Victor with ease. Golda’s not the only one to go; each year there are fewer and fewer of the truly old Victors left. Mags from District Four, Victor of the 7th Games, is the oldest left.

The last Victors of the 60s are from Three, Two, and Ten, all of whom are sold but none of whom are sold for long. Too ugly, too boring, too broken -- Lincoln from Ten suffered injuries even the Capitol couldn’t fix from the spiked maces which were the only weapons available in his Games. Sometimes Cashmere wishes she was as broken as him or Chaff. Sure, they’re missing body parts. But at least they aren’t sold.

Finnick is still the most-requested Victor, while Cashmere and Gloss are most often sold as a pair. On any night, it’s even odds whether she’ll be fucking their patron or fucking her brother.

Cashmere and Johanna end up friends, even if most of what they do is snark at each other. Occasionally they get drunk or spar, Johanna’s axes against her knives. The friendship isn’t sappy, and that’s exactly the way they like it.

Finnick, on the other hand, becomes the little brother she never had. 

Okay, technically she has a little brother, but she and Polish aren’t close. Especially now that he’s aged out of the Reaping and moved back to the city. He runs the family lace shop now, and he’s married with one kid and a second on the way. He became an adult when she wasn’t looking. In some ways, more of an adult than her or Gloss, who aren’t married and still seemingly living that party lifestyle. He’s not the only one; Angora got married right after Cashmere and Gloss got home from the 68th Games. Even Brilliance is almost a teen.

_Where did the time go?_

Caesar buys her as often as he can afford to, usually buying Gloss as well -- if only to give him a day of rest. Sometimes Gloss watches them wistfully. Cashmere knows he doesn’t want her and is pretty sure he doesn’t want Caesar; he just wants what they have. Which is still laughably little.

She’s never gone on a date with her soulmate. Never chosen the days she’d spend time with him and the days she’d be alone. Never lived with him or even stayed longer than one night. Never had the freedom to get engaged or married. Never told him she loved him. Never gone off birth control. Cashmere likes kids. She wants kids. But her chances of having any are slowly slipping away as she gets older and older with no end to the whoring in sight. Maybe once Silk and Brilliance move out she’ll adopt. Take a kid from the Community Home, one with no parents, and give them a new life doing something, anything, other than going to the Games.

She has to be realistic; her soulmate is almost forty years older than her, a Capitolite, and not someone she can ever hope to be with long-term.

Sometimes she hates being realistic.

**oOo**

“Don’t get close to the tributes,” Golda told her and Gloss when they started helping with the mentoring. “You can be friendly. You can help them. You can even like them. But don’t get attached, because chances are, they’ll be dead by the end of the Games. If they win, you can get attached. But not before.”

When Annie Cresta breaks down and Finnick follows her, Cashmere wonders if Mags gave him the same warning. And if she did, would it have worked? Maybe this is like her and Gloss -- she was attached before he volunteered.

Onyx happens to be her partner at One’s station. “Go,” he says, gesturing to where Oceana is wringing her hands as she keeps looking between the screen showing Annie and where Finnick is quietly falling apart. “I’ll handle things until Silverbelle gets here.” Platinum and Lustre are both still in it, but Onyx is experienced, and Silverbelle is due for her shift in about forty minutes. 

All that goes through her mind in an instant. She heads for Finnick, who now has Johanna trying -- and mostly failing -- to comfort him. Johanna shrugs when Cashmere gives her a questioning look. “Woodrow’s dying, and we don’t have enough funds to send him a sandwich, let alone medicine. There’s nothing I can do that Blight can’t. Finnick’s more important.”

Woodrow’s dying -- and dying slowly -- because Annie speared him then ran away after he cut off her district partner’s head. Cashmere’s glad to see Johanna’s living up to the rule of not blaming other mentors for what their tributes do.

Between them, they get Finnick up to District Four’s floor. Cashmere sits with him on the couch, letting him lean on her for comfort, while Johanna goes looking for Mags.

“Do you want to watch?” Cashmere asks. The TV is off at the moment. But she remembers Gloss’s Games and how she’d watched every moment she could.

He shrugs. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to watch if she dies, but you also would hate yourself if you didn’t. And if she lives, you can’t stop watching.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Cashmere turns the TV on. She doesn’t need to pick a channel; all of them show the Games. “I felt the same when it was Gloss.”

Right now, the cameras are on the boy from Seven and his agonizing death. Because of course that’s what the Capitol wants to watch. If they were in Mentor Central, Finnick’s camera would be tuned to Annie no matter what was happening on the big screen. Here, they only have what the regular viewers see.

Well, they don’t need to hear a teenager die terribly. She mutes the TV but leaves the screen on. They can always unmute it later, and this way they’ll probably notice if anything happens.

Finnick’s not sobbing on her shoulder, but he is leaning on her pretty heavily. Cashmere ruffles his hair. He brushes her away, but there’s a hint of a smile playing around his lips. “Don’t do that. I’m not a kid.”

She ruffles his hair again anyway. “Nope, you’re totally my baby brother.”

The smile’s a little more there.

Johanna helps Mags into the living room, where she sits on Finnick’s other side. “What happened?”

Finnick shakes his head and bites his thumbnail. Johanna’s already paying attention to the TV. Cashmere isn’t going to interrupt her; that’s her tribute dying up there, of course she’s going to watch, if only to bear witness. In a quiet voice, Cashmere explains what happened to Mags -- the two tributes from Four separating from the rest of the Careers to discuss the coming breakup of the Pack, them stumbling on the boy from Seven, the boy from Seven using his axe to cut off the boy from Four’s head, Annie spearing him and then running screaming into the cliffs, Finnick’s breakdown.

Mags nods slowly as Cashmere tells the story. “I see,” she says. It’s clear she’s worried about Finnick. She looks at Cashmere and then Johanna as if she’s weighing them. And then she does something Cashmere doesn’t expect. She pulls out a -- something electronic? -- and presses a button.

The whole room seems to fizz.

Johanna slams her hands over her ears. “What the fuck was that?”

Cashmere has to fight not to do the same. Her ears are alternately tingling and popping. Sometimes both at the same time. Only her presentation training gets her through without moving or crying out.

Finnick’s burrowed into her shoulder again.

“We have about five minutes to talk freely,” Mags says as she calmly looks at the three of them.

Cashmere’s eyes widen. Something that can block the bugs? That’s worth its weight in gold. Even if it only lasts for five minutes.

Mags nods. “Finnick, child. There’s naught you can do for Annie right now. Either she’ll make it or she won’t. We’ll send her anything we can, but… you know how it is.” Cashmere feels him nod into her shoulder. “As for everything else… I know all three of you have reason to hate the Capitol. There’s plans in progress.” She doesn’t say for what, but it’s not hard to work it out. 

_A second rebellion_.

Cashmere wonders why she’s being trusted. District One is Career and loyal to the Capitol; only Two is more so. But then again, Four is Career too, and Mags is clearly deep in this rebellion. Johanna’s the only expected rebel of the bunch. “Why are you including me?”

“Because you’ve done right by Finnick. And I know you and Gloss hate what’s been done to you.”

She’s right about that.

Mags raises her eyebrows as she stares at Cashmere. “I trust you won’t be telling that soulmate of yours?”

How does Mags know? Cashmere honestly has no idea. She nods anyway. “Of course not.” Telling Caesar would be an absolutely horrendous idea. “But… Gloss?”

“It’s all our lives he’d be risking, including yours. Including his. I won’t say you can’t. But if you tell him, make it private.”

Cashmere slowly nods. She’s not sure if she’ll tell Gloss or not. He hates the Capitol as much as she does, but in a lot of ways he’s a much more typical citizen of District One. Unlike the rest of the Victors except Golda, who’s dead now anyway, he hasn’t always stood apart. She’ll have to decide if keeping him safe or keeping him informed is more important. But that’s for later.

“Don’t talk about it publicly,” Mags warns all three of them. “And do it as little as possible. Ask me if someone can be trusted. A lot of Victors are in, but not all. And there are others, but right now it’s best if you don’t know who they are.”

Johanna nods, then winces as the TV shows the boy from Seven convulse one last time before lying still. With the TV muted, they don’t hear the cannon, but all of them know it’s there.

At the same time, a light flashes on the electronic thingy Mags is still holding and another lighter fizz goes through her body, and Cashmere realizes she forgot to ask where the older Victor got it. On the other hand, she doesn't really have to, does she? Everything about the bug zapper screams District Three -- with Beetee as the most likely candidate for the device’s builder.

After Mags puts the now-off bug zapper away, she turns to Johanna. “I’m sorry about your boy.”

Johanna gives a half-shrug. “Thanks. His chances were never great, but once he hit Final Eight… well, you know how it is.”

They do. Johanna’s never been as touch-happy as Finnick, but Cashmere offers her a hand anyway. She’s pleased when Johanna leans in for just a moment before curling up in the corner of the couch.

With a sigh and another ruffle of Finnick’s hair, Cashmere says, “I really should find out if I have any appointments tonight.” She doesn’t want to, but that’s life, and life sucks. Mags hands her the phone. Reluctantly, she calls the District One rooms and checks in with Shiny.

“Hold on a sec and I’ll check,” Shiny says. Cashmere hears her moving around. “No envelopes yet. I’ll keep an eye out if you want.”

“Yeah, I’m up on Four. Has Silverbelle gone down yet?” When Shiny says she’s on her way to Mentor Central, Cashmere pats Finnick on the shoulder. “I’m going to stay here for a while, but let me know if I get a summons.”

“Will do.”

After Cashmere hangs up, she lets herself relax into the back of the couch. She has at least a few hours of peace, maybe more if it’s an off night. Finnick molds himself closer to her, like a child clinging to a parent for comfort. She runs her fingers through his hair, hoping he can get some sleep. She knows what the nightmares are like; there’s no way he isn’t having them, especially with how he feels about Annie.

The Games are showing Annie now. The poor girl has jammed herself into a cave that’s not much bigger than she is, and she’s sobbing and clutching herself. Cashmere sighs internally. 

Annie’s chances aren’t good. She has to get past her district partner dying and killing the boy from Seven, or she’s not making it out alive. The rest of the Careers would have her for breakfast right now. But she’s not getting over it or at least figuring out a way to work around it. She’s just sobbing.

Apparently that’s _boring_ to the Capitol because the TV switches to the rest of the Careers. With the volume still off Cashmere can’t hear what they’re saying, but she’d bet they’re discussing the two cannons and who’s dead. It’s what she’d be doing if she were in the Games. She tries to remember who’s left -- Platinum and Lustre from One, the girl from Two, Annie from Four, the girl from Nine, and the boy from Eleven. It’s about time for the Pack to break up, before they stop trusting enough to start stabbing in the back.

They talk for a while, and Cashmere drifts. She’s somewhere warm, with people she likes, which is unusual at any time -- let alone when she’s in the Capitol. She can relax at least for a while. Everyone else is relaxing too. Finnick’s fallen asleep on her shoulder, while Johanna and Mags discuss something in quiet tones. It’s not something she needs to pay attention to.

A while -- she’s not sure how long -- later, something Mags says cuts through her haze. “Huh?”

Johanna grins at her. “Missed the conversation?”

“Yes.” Admitting weakness isn’t normally done, but doing so shocks Johanna, so why not? “What were you saying, Mags?”

“Scalea made it through.” When both Cashmere and Johanna stare at her in confusion, she points her chin at Finnick. “His sister.”

For a second Cashmere has to parse it, but then she realizes -- she’s twenty-six, so Finnick is nineteen, so the sister they interviewed in his Games is eighteen. This was her last Reaping. “How many times did they pull her name?”

Mags holds up three fingers.

Cashmere cuddles Finnick a little closer. He’s already going through so much. At least he won’t have that added pain. “Annie volunteered for her.”

“Of course.”

“No wonder he likes her so much,” Johanna puts in. She leans back against the couch in a pose of forced laziness. “Saved his sister and all.”

Mags checks that Finnick is still asleep before murmuring, “I have to assume she has no chance for that alone. She’s not the one the Capitol wanted.” All of them know how the Capitol can be when thwarted. Johanna is living proof -- her and the dark gray soulmark on her hand. She wraps her other hand around it, hiding the words. 

Cashmere isn’t sure what it will do to Finnick if Annie dies. When Annie dies. Given the choice between his sister and the girl he loves, who would he pick? But the choice is out of his hands. No matter how much money District Four has gotten from sponsors, there’s only so much they can do when their tribute is cowering in a cave.

Her attention is drawn to the TV when the three Careers stand up in unison and start splitting up the items at the camp by the Cornucopia. The Pack is about to split. District One will need more mentors on deck once Lustre and Platinum separate; it’s a good thing Silverbelle already went down to Mentor Central. Lustre gestures at some water purifying tablets Annie received as a sponsor gift, and Platinum shrugs and says something. They split them up and put some in each pile.

Ah. Even though they can’t know who the cannons were for, they’re not waiting to see who comes back. Cashmere internally shrugs. All’s fair in love and the Games.

Suddenly, everyone on screen jerks. Platinum trips and falls directly onto his sword.

Cashmere winces. There’s no way he’s surviving that.

And then water comes rushing in.

_What the hell?_

The water surrounds the camp, and Lustre and the girl from Two start treading water while Platinum sinks under the onrush. Cashmere grabs the remote and unmutes the TV, drawing Mags and Johanna’s attention. All three of them stare at the screen.

“What happened?” Johanna asks.

“Earthquake, I think? They all jerked, like something was tossing them around. Platinum fell onto his sword -- he’s not getting up from that -- and now there’s water everywhere.”

“Wasn’t there a dam in the Arena?” Mags asks. “I think I saw one when they did that panover at the beginning.”

“Maybe?” Cashmere says with a shrug. She was with Gloss and their ‘date’ at the time, so the memory’s more focused on other things.

Apparently Mags is right, because the camera flips to a broken dam with water rushing in. The commentators are talking about how the dam broke in the earthquake.

The camera switches to the boy from Eleven. He’s drowning, taken by surprise and unable to swim.

These Games just changed. It’s no longer a fight to the death, but a fight for survival. And exactly one district is known for its ability to swim. 

“The question is,” Johanna says slowly, “was this intentional or accidental?”

“Accidental, probably.” Her eyes dart to Finnick; like they said earlier, Annie wasn’t the preferred female tribute from Four. “But it could be either.” Sure, the commentators are treating it like an accident, but the Gamemakers rarely reveal all their secrets.

Mags leans over and repeatedly pokes Finnick in the side until he squirms awake. “What?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep. If Cashmere saw him as anything but a little brother, she’d be attracted to that voice, but she’s not.

Mags nods at the TV. “Keep an eye on your girl.”

**oOo**


	14. A Thousand Miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning for canonical cannibalism.

**oOo**

Annie makes it out of the Arena, but she’s broken. Not that any Victor is ever entirely whole, but she’s even more broken than the average.

She’s sold anyway. As long as there is someone who will pay, all Victors are for sale. She doesn’t last long, however. One too many stories of the crazy girl who just cries while you fuck her and no one is interested anymore.

Cashmere’s just glad none of them realized how much Finnick cares about her. She can only imagine how it would hurt Finnick and Annie’s relationship if they were forced to put on a show.

She knows what she’s talking about; it’s not like having sex with her twin brother helped their relationship. Sure, they’re close now. But how much of that is only having each other to truly depend on? Yes, they have their family, her soulmate, his mostly-distant friends, the other Victors from One and even the rest of the districts… but none of them have been there. None share their experience. Cashmere wouldn’t wish it on any of them, but she and Gloss feel incredibly lonely sometimes. And what’s worse, there are times when they just can’t help each other because they were involved in the pain.

And now there’s the rebellion… which she still hasn’t told Gloss about. She needs to; the last time she kept something this big from him, he volunteered for the Games so he could understand what she was going through. What would he do now?

Finally, a few weeks before the 71st Games, she takes him on a hike of the outskirts of One.

“So what’s going on?” he asks once they’re sitting on a picnic blanket in the middle of nowhere. Since she didn’t pick a route until they were already on the trail, there’s no way anyone could have planted microphones or cameras out here, and there’s no bugs on their clothes or supplies. She checked.

In halting words, she explains what Mags said about the rebellion, as well as the few pieces she managed to put together over the winter. She has a list of Victors who are definitely involved, a list of maybes ranging from likely to unlikely, and a list who definitely aren’t. ‘Maybe’ comprises by far the biggest category.

“What sort of plans do they have?”

Cashmere shrugs. “Mags didn’t get that far.” She sighs and starts laying out their lunch. “I couldn’t keep it a secret from you, but the truth is, I don’t know much.”

“We need to get one of those bug zappers.”

“I think Beetee must have made it, but I’ll ask Mags.”

Gloss leans back until he’s flat on the ground, staring up at the sky. “You know, I always used to think One was great. The Capitol was great. We were happy, right?” He sighs. “I got closer to you when I volunteered, Cash, but I got farther from everyone else.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.” It’s the first time she’s said it.

He shakes his head. “You didn’t drag me into anything. I made my own stupid choices.”

“I can’t regret being closer with you, but…”

“Yeah. But.” Gloss sighs and stretches his whole body. When he’s done, he lies back down. “I’m guessing Flickerman doesn’t know.”

“No. Mags asked me not to tell him, and, well…”

“Even though he’s your soulmate, he’s still Capitol.”

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you ended up with someone like him for a soulmate. I mean he’s Capitol, like forty years older than you… what about him makes him, of all people, your soulmate?”

Cashmere traces a line on the ground. “I’ve wondered that myself. We do get along. I like my time with him. I think I could love him in another world.”

“One with no Games.”

“Yeah. And no Capitol, and no whoring. Another world entirely.” She shrugs. “He’s something… stable. And as much as I love you, not you.”

Gloss nods. “I get that.”

She keeps tracing the lines on the ground. “Do you…” She can’t bring herself to finish the question.

“Have anyone?” He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous while we’re still Capitol toys.” He turns to look at her. “It’s slowing down, at least.”

They’ll be twenty-seven in just a few weeks. That’s downright old for the Capitol to buy Victors. She supposes seeing the two of them together is really what the Capitol is paying for these days; it’s gone from a fifty-fifty chance of them having sex with each other versus having sex with their patron to having sex with each other about three quarters of the time and their patron about one quarter. “Maybe by the time we’re thirty we’ll be able to have lives.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

**oOo**

An eighteen-year-old from Two wins the 71st Games, but not before a tribute from Six starts eating his kills.

The avalanche which takes him out has got to be a Gamemaker ploy.

There’s few things which are too much for the Capitol, but apparently cannibalism is one of them. _Can’t eat the dead, just let everyone in the districts starve to death and watch kids kill each other and rape the ones who make it out alive. What a wonderful fucking world we live in_. She doesn’t say her inner monologue aloud, and she doesn’t even give a hint of it on her face. 

Caesar buys her -- just her -- the night after the Games. He doesn’t even want sex this time, just to hold her in bed. It’s the first time he’s ever made the choice, rather than leaving it to her. But him giving her the choices he can has meant so much that she knows she needs to respect his too, even if a part of her is craving him. Maybe in the morning he’ll be in the mood. If he’s not, nothing will happen. But she kind of hopes he is.

“What brought this on?” she asks. “You seem melancholy.”

His arms tighten around her. “It gets harder every year. Forty years in this job. It’s a long time.”

“Have you thought about retiring?”

“What would I do?”

“Become a man of leisure?”

“Ten months a year, I already am. I’m not much in demand other than the Games themselves and the week of the Victory Tour.” 

Cashmere thinks about her life. Sure, she teaches at the Tribute Training Center, but if she disappeared, they’d replace her. Her parents still don’t talk to her, her siblings are growing up and finding their own way, and the other One Victors have their own lives. “I know what you mean.”

“Ah, forgive a melancholy old man, my dear. Sometimes I just wonder if this is all there is.”

Part of her burns to tell him about the rebellion, but that would be incredibly idiotic, and she promised Mags. So she doesn’t. Instead she lets him hold her until they both fall asleep.

**oOo**

Ten years after Cashmere’s Games and nine years after Gloss’s, District One gets another Victor.

Lacy is tall and beautiful, with golden ringlets that cascade down her back and a body that would make a dead man sit up and take notice. She’s everyone’s image of what a One Victor should be.

Selfishly, Cashmere hopes the Capitol’s attention will turn from her and Gloss to Lacy.

She’s not Lacy’s mentor; even though she and Gloss are less in demand, they’re still called away often enough that they can’t take the lead. Silverbelle takes the responsibility.

For the first time in years, Cashmere doesn’t have a ‘date’ for the Victory Ceremony. Instead she sits with Johanna, enjoying a chance to actually be with a friend. Finnick grins at them from where he’s with his ‘date,’ a sleazy old man who likes them young. Cashmere had to let him fuck her her very first year as a Victor, before Gloss won. She’s too old for him now, thankfully. Finnick, at twenty-one, barely squeaks into his preferred age range.

Johanna leans in. “So, thoughts?”

“Oh, she’s going to make a splash.”

“Not about that! About Caesar Flickerman and what the fuck he was thinking choosing _puce_ as his color this year.”

Cashmere taps her arm. “I never thought I would say this, but it’s worse than the orange.”

Johanna breaks out into raucous laughter, causing a wave of disapproving glares. She doesn’t seem to care. “Fucking hell, when did he do orange?”

“Wiress’s year, so… 53rd Games?”

Eyeing her, Johanna smirks. “Orange would be a terrible color for you. As would puce.” Both of them know she’s referring to Cashmere’s soulmark, but neither of them says it aloud.

“Believe me,” Cashmere sighs. “I know.”

**oOo**

The 73rd Games continues the Career streak, this time with an eighteen-year-old from Two -- their third Victor in six years. That also makes four years straight of Career Victors.

Mags has a stroke, and while it stops her from communicating so well, it doesn’t stop her from working on the rebellion. Cashmere learns more of who’s involved, but not nearly everyone; she was right about Beetee building the bug zappers, however. He gives her one, but with the caveat that she shouldn't use it unless it’s an emergency, and even then she can only use it three times before the Capitol will figure out the frequency and break through the shielding.

Cashmere notices whispers more. Sure, she can’t hear them, but it’s obvious even on the Capitol coverage of the Games and the Victory Tour. The districts, especially the non-Career districts, are getting antsy, especially since the Capitol keeps demanding more, more, more.

Last time Polish and his family came to dinner, he and his wife were both exhausted by the Capitol’s increased demands for lace. More lace, new lace, better lace, unique lace. From what Angora and her husband the goldsmith said, the demand is universal across One.

And if they, a district the Capitol likes, who create goods the Capitol is actually willing to pay for, are getting it this hard... 

How bad is it for everyone else?

  
**oOo**


	15. One Day More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the point where we start coinciding with Words of Revolution, found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993737
> 
> While you don't have to read it to enjoy this story, it adds more depth!

**oOo**

Six days before Cashmere’s thirtieth birthday, the hint of revolution in the air turns into a blazing inferno. Twelve-year-old Primrose Everdeen is Reaped from District Twelve, and her older sister volunteers to take her place.

Cashmere’s heart aches for the sisters. Katniss Everdeen is the same age as Brilliance -- when Cashmere was sixteen, she’d felt so grown up, but now she realizes how damn young she was. How young Katniss _is_. Katniss is the same age as Twelve’s Mayor’s daughter who she met on her Victory Tour, she realizes. Cashmere wonders whatever happened to her. What was her name? Maude? Midge? No, Madge, that was it.

Cashmere didn’t volunteer for any of her sisters, but that’s because she didn’t need to. Instead she took the place of someone else’s sister. She doesn’t regret that. For everything she’s gone through, for all the people she’s killed, at least she can know unequivocally that there is someone alive today who would be dead if not for her.

_Twelve’s gotten a better stylist_ , she realizes as she watches the parade. Glimmer and Marvel, up in District One’s chariot, look good. One always does; since they produce luxury items, there’s always a lot of excellent choices for the stylists to choose from. But Twelve… Twelve doesn’t. Ever.

There’s a fire behind Haymitch’s eyes as he watches the parade. It’s something she never expected to see from the old drunk. If that girl can inspire even him, what will she do for Panem?

“The girl from Twelve,” Cashmere says at dinner the next night. “She’s one to watch.” She’s not really talking to the tributes per se. Gloss of course gets the message, nodding in agreement with her thoughts.

“Twelve?” Marvel scoffs. “That backwater?”

“Yes, Twelve.”

“She’s stuck on her district partner,” Glimmer puts in. “They spent the whole day together.”

Marvel sneers. “At the _fire starting station_.”

“And knife throwing, and knot-tying, and edible plants.”

Cashmere eyes them. If one of District One’s tributes is to make it through, she’d bet on Glimmer. The girl is smarter, more observant, than Marvel. Less likely to dismiss something just because it doesn’t agree with her preset worldview. Sneaky enough to try to get a token with a weapon inside it into the Games, even though that ploy failed. But even though Glimmer is extremely capable, Cashmere doubts she’ll be the Victor. There’s just too many other qualified tributes this year.

The next day is spent at a party where she and Gloss are the star attraction. Finnick’s there too, on the arm of one of Snow’s cabinet, as are most of the younger Victors. It’s old hat by now, but that doesn’t make it easier to have sex with her brother for an audience.

After it’s all done, Cashmere and Gloss have to help Lacy to the limousine. The younger woman was passed around to at least ten different people, and even though she’s trying not to show how much pain she’s in, it’s obvious to anyone who’s been there. “Do you need the hospital?” Gloss murmurs.

Lacy shakes her head as she climbs gingerly into the car. “Not right now. Ask me again tomorrow.”

He nods and sits next to her, allowing her to lean on him.

Cashmere eyes them. Is there something there? She hopes there is -- her brother deserves happiness. Unfortunately, even if there is, it’ll be years before they can be together openly. Gloss isn’t in as much demand as he used to be, but Lacy is very popular and likely will be for a while. Cashmere hopes both of them can wait that long.

**oOo**

When the scores come out, Cashmere knows she was right.

Sure, there’s some surprises earlier in the program -- the boy from Three gets a seven, a relatively high score for a district that isn’t known for winning the Games. The boy from Eleven gets a ten, higher than half the Careers. The girl from Eleven’s seven is surprising; she’s tiny even for a twelve-year-old. The boy from Twelve gets an eight, an extremely high score for that usually-hopeless district.

And then Katniss Everdeen gets an eleven.

The last time anyone scored an eleven was in the 63rd Games -- Cocoa, Cashmere’s yearmate and Gloss’s district partner.

Sure, scores aren’t a guarantee of the Victor. Lincoln from Ten, who won the 69th Games, only got a four. Johanna got a two. But higher scores tend to win more often.

And Districts Eleven and Twelve have an average score of _nine_ this year. That’s incredibly unusual; Cashmere can’t remember the last time anyone from _either_ of those districts scored higher than a six. This year every single one of them has.

Something is stirring in Panem. And from the way Gloss grips her shoulder, she knows he sees it too.

**oOo**

She gets to spend the next night with Caesar, after he goes through all the sound checks and rehearsals for the interviews. By the time she meets him at his home, it’s after ten and he looks downright exhausted. The powder blue hair isn’t doing him any favors now that his makeup is off.

_He’s getting older_. The thought stuns her, but it’s true: he’s not a young man, and even the Capitol can only defy aging for so long. She knows most people would see them and think the same things she’s thought about One’s Mayor and the way his successive wives keep getting younger. But Cashmere doesn’t feel that young -- with the way the Capitol defies aging and the way the Victors grow up too fast, maybe they meet in the middle.

His grin is still just a little elfin. “Cashmere Dubois from District One, what do you think of this year’s tributes?”

She doesn’t even try to stop herself from grinning back. “I think we’ve got some very interesting dark horse candidates this year, Caesar.”

He nods. “Yes, the girl from Twelve. I noticed her myself.”

“She’s hard to miss.”

“And District One?”

Cashmere has to think about how to phrase it. “Glimmer and Marvel are good, don’t get me wrong. But they’re not… extraordinary.”

He nods slowly in apparent agreement. 

“I suppose we’ll have to see if any of them do anything interesting in the interviews,” Cashmere adds. “Glimmer and Marvel will be very typical for One; neither of them has the… the imagination to change their strategies, even after the scores.” Her smile is self-effacing. “I wouldn’t have, at their age. We’re taught to stick with what works. The same is likely true of Two and even Four. No, the interesting districts will be Three, Eleven, and Twelve.”

“Not just the girl from Twelve?”

“No. Yes, of course she’s fascinating, But the others -- the boy from Twelve, the boy from Three, and both from Eleven -- scored extraordinarily high for their districts. It’s honestly the first time I can recall that I would bet on someone from a dark horse district winning.” Tilting her head at him, she asks, “What are your thoughts? You’ve been watching the Games for longer than I have.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me exactly how old I’m getting. I have to agree; I’m looking forward to interviewing Three, Eleven, and Twelve.” He smiles at her and glances at something on the wall, then gets a box from one of the Capitol’s most famous bakeries. He fiddles with something before placing it in front of her. “Happy birthday, my dear.”

Instead of a typical birthday cake, it’s a waffle surrounded by strawberries with ‘Happy Birthday, Cashmere’ spelled out in whipped cream (it takes her a moment to decipher the words considering how flowy the writing is) and a single lit candle.

It’s not what she would have expected. But it’s exactly what she wants. She smiles at him with tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“No, my dear.” He picks up her hand and kisses it. “Thank _you_.”

**oOo**

As she watches the interviews with the rest of the Victors from One -- except for Lacy, who’s on a ‘date’ -- Cashmere evaluates the candidates. The tributes from One, Two, and Four are typical Careers, and in any other year that would give them an edge. This year, it’s not going to be enough.

The boy from Three definitely has a plan, and when Cashmere glances over at Beetee, she catches the edge of a smile. Whatever it is, he knows about it and thinks it has a chance to succeed. Cashmere mentally shoves the boy up a notch on her list of who’s most likely to survive.

The girl from Five is a surprise; her score of five was very typical for the non-Career districts, and Cashmere had honestly lumped her in with the others who really didn’t have much of a chance. But something about her slippery slyness makes Cashmere sit up and take notice.

Everyone else is normal -- meaning very likely to die quickly -- until Eleven. The girl is both tiny and enchanting. Cashmere is thankful her stylist didn’t try to turn her into a sex object the way Glimmer’s did; it would just look wrong on a twelve-year-old. With those wings, she wonders if the girl will just fly away. Something about the way she moves implies that she could. Her words -- “if they can’t catch me, they can’t kill me” -- imply it even more.

The boy from Eleven is sullen and uncommunicative, which the Capitol will find intriguing given his size and his score. But even Caesar, the ultimate pro, can’t get much out of him.

The girl from Twelve… doesn’t interview well. The gorgeous dress is frankly more interesting than she is except when she talks about her sister. Cashmere does wonder what she did to get that eleven. It has to be combat; if she were in District One, she’d be absolute last in her class in presentation, and survival alone wouldn’t be enough for that score. No, it has to be combat.

And then the boy from Twelve drops a bombshell.

Caesar plays it up perfectly, giving the audience hints of what they want but not quite everything. For an instant his grin is directed right at her -- long enough that she knows but not long enough that anyone else will. Her heart skips a beat.

Sparkle leans toward Cashmere. “Look at the girl. She did not know that was coming.”

Cashmere has to agree. The Capitol can’t tell because they’re shit at knowing when someone’s acting, but anyone with training can. She can see Enobaria whispering to Lyme a few rows away -- probably saying the same thing. Mags grins at her from the same direction. She doesn’t make any particular motion, at least not one Cashmere can identify, but the message gets through anyway.

Katniss Everdeen isn’t just a girl from Twelve with a good chance of winning the Games.

She might also be the figurehead of the next revolution.

**oOo**


	16. Ten Duel Commandments

**oOo**

By the time they hit the Final Eight, Cashmere knows Mags was right -- Katniss Everdeen could be just what they need.

Yes, she was sad to see Glimmer go, and with her all real chance of District One winning this year. Marvel is too impetuous. He has too much of a chip on his shoulder. It was another year like hers -- the boys just weren’t great, and Onyx and Silverbelle, who’s starting to transition into running the Tribute Training Center, had to pick the least-worst option. But there was no Gloss to volunteer in his stead.

Even so, Glimmer’s death means the girl will never be sold. Never hate what she sees in the mirror. 

You don’t win the Hunger Games. You only survive them.

Cashmere joins Johanna and Finnick in Seven’s living room to watch the Final Eight interviews. Sure, Marvel’s still in it, but Gloss is on duty while Truffle hunts up sponsors -- she’s not needed until the late afternoon shift. And all of Johanna and Finnick’s tributes are dead, so they don’t have anywhere to be either. Finnick’s buyers are finally starting to slow down. Now he only has one about every other day rather than every day. It’s something.

They choose Seven because Annie and Mags are both resting in Four’s rooms, while One always has people in and out. When Finnick worries about interrupting Blight, Johanna just shrugs and says, “He’s either drinking, drunk, or blacked out. We won’t bother him at all.”

The interviews go in order by district, same as always. Marvel’s family is just like all of them from District One: proud of their son, but almost strangers. Cashmere watched the interview with her family after her Games, and it was a lot like this -- parents who speak in stirring words about the honor of the Games and their pride in District One but nothing about who their child really is. Younger siblings who barely know their older sibling. Gloss was the only one who spoke of her with any real affection.

Gloss’s Final Eight interview was different. The only District One tribute in forty or fifty years who hadn’t grown up in the Tribute Training Center, who’d lived with his family until he volunteered, everyone at his interview truly knew him. Including her -- they’d managed to carve out half an hour between patrons to ask her about her brother.

Cashmere understands the reasons. She wonders if the parents aren’t as broken when their children die if they barely know them. But it was still painful to watch her parents talk about her like she was a stranger.

District Two is similar. Cato and Clove’s families speak about pride and honor and District Two but very little about Cato and Clove.

Johanna stares at the screen. “I really hope all those rumors of Career Training Schools are true, because otherwise it’d be pathetic just how much your families don’t seem to know you. One and Two are always like this, like you’re just strangers.”

Cashmere grins and pokes her. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“What about Four?” Johanna asks, rolling in the other direction to look at Finnick. Also probably to get away from Cashmere’s poking. “Annie’s family wasn’t like this.”

He shakes his head. “We just have gym class at school, or sports after, but we don’t go to boarding school.” Clearly code for training, but of course he won’t say it aloud. Both of them understand exactly what he means, though.

“Seems like a lonely life.”

“I think it’s… easier, on the parents, if their kids don’t come back.” Cashmere keeps her eyes on the screen. “We form our own Victor family anyway.”

Johanna shrugs. “It’s just me and Blight in our Village. He says it was less lonely when old Frostpine was around. He had a wife and lots of kids and grandkids, I guess, but they all got kicked out after he died.”

Cashmere immediately brings up the relevant memory from what she learned in their once-a-week history classes. Frostpine Wheeler, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games. Won by chopping off the boy from Two’s head with an axe. Died between Gloss’s Games and his Victory Tour. She vaguely remembers him from her Tour -- a large man with long dark hair who patted her on the shoulder hard enough to send her stumbling. She’s glad he had a decent life after his Games.

By this point, the District Two interviews are over.

The girl from District Five has only a mother who’s just as distant from her daughter as the Career parents. In some ways she’s worse; she knows her daughter but doesn’t seem to like her. She’s filmed in a room somewhere, but what’s out the window doesn’t look anything like District Five -- it’s far too forested for that desert district. She says something about working on the lines while her daughter lives in the dorms. She must be part of one of those crews that maintains power plants and electrical connections across Panem. Lumen told Cashmere and Enobaria about them once when they were on their way back from a party and trying to distract themselves from the pain.

After that, it’s on to Eleven.

Finnick shakes his head. “I still can’t believe Eleven and Twelve are still in this.”

“Half the tributes left!” Johanna crows. They might not be from her district, but she seems pleased the dark horse district tributes are doing well.

Thresh just has a sister and a grandmother, and the grandmother’s half-senile. Cashmere winces.

She winces harder when they focus on Rue’s siblings. Five of them, all younger, who clearly love their big sister very much and hope she comes back. The similarity to Gloss’s Games is uncanny. That could be Polish, Angora, Radiance, Silk, and Brilliance desperately hoping their big brother comes back.

Fuck.

She has to close her eyes and breathe deeply to get through the interview.

“Hey, Dubois, you okay?” Johanna asks. She sounds somewhat concerned.

Cashmere shakes her head. “Too close.”

“To you?”

“Gloss.”

Finnick makes a soft noise of understanding. “They’ve got five younger siblings,” he tells Johanna. “And Gloss was… not typical for One.”

“Oh really? No one’s told me that one.” Her voice is humorous, but her actions belie it. She puts a hand where Cashmere can reach it without having to move.

Finnick quietly tells Johanna the story while Cashmere keeps herself out of the memory through sheer force of will. And also through clutching Johanna’s hand hard enough that it has to hurt, though Johanna doesn’t say a thing. These aren’t her siblings. This isn’t Gloss. He’s not in the Games. He’s not. He never will be again. He’s safely down in Mentor Central watching Marvel’s screen. He’s _safe_.

By the time the interviews switch to District Twelve, she’s calmer. She wants to watch these, anyway, see what kind of families the Kids on Fire come from. She finally manages to loosen her grip on Johanna’s hand and let go. It takes more effort than she expected -- she really was holding it hard.

“Damn, Dubois,” Johanna says, shaking out her hand, “you’ve got some strength.”

“Practice,” she quips, glad when she gets a chuckle from both Johanna and Finnick.

They missed the introductions, but the names of the families -- who are all blond like Peeta instead of dark like Katniss, but there’s three adults there so they can’t all be his, right? -- are on the bottom of the screen. Cashmere’s gotten better at reading, especially if she has time to concentrate, but her head’s swimming a little and the letters are gently vibrating. “Wait, who’s who?” 

Johanna raises an eyebrow. “It’s right there on the bottom of the screen.”

She doesn’t want to reveal a vulnerability, but… “Yeah, and I’ve never been good at reading, especially if my head hurts.”

“The couple are Matz and Ethel Mellark, Peeta’s parents, and the boys are their older sons, Johnny and Bing,” Finnick says, stopping her and Johanna’s squabble before it starts. “I think Johnny’s the one smiling sappily at the interviewer, but don’t quote me on that. The single woman is Lily Everdeen and her younger daughter is Primrose.”

Of course, now she recognizes Primrose from the Reaping. While neither Lily nor Primrose looks much like Katniss on first glance, they do share some similarities if you look closely enough. It’s there in the shape of the eyes, the curve of the mouth, little details like that. The coloring is different, but the relationship exists. And once she’s paying attention, she sees Primrose is wearing her hair in a braid that looks a lot like her sister’s.

There’s tension between the families. Lily and Primrose talk up Katniss, though they both immediately clam up when the interviewer asks about how Katniss learned to shoot so well. Undoubtedly it’s something illegal, though Cashmere has no idea where anyone could hide something as obvious as learning to shoot a bow in a district as tiny and packed-together as Twelve. 

Matz talks up Peeta just as much, describing skillfully the weight of the bags of flour which Peeta regularly carries. “And Katniss always tra--” There’s a hiss from Lily, and he stops talking, chagrin passing over his face. The two of them stare at each other, clearly having a silent conversation -- his wife does not seem pleased -- before he smiles at the interviewer again. “I don’t know Katniss as well as my son, of course, but Peeta wasn’t lying when he said he was in love with her. He’s been in love with her since he was five.”

Considering Peeta is currently hiding while injured because he tried to save Katniss’s life, that’s not exactly a surprise.

“Also, he’s the second-best wrestler at school, so he’s got mad skills when he’s back up and at it,” the brother who isn’t smiling sappily at the interviewer says. Then he sends a winning smile at the interviewer.

The brother who _is_ smiling sappily at the interviewer elbows him in the side.

“And who’s the best wrestler?” the interviewer asks, taking the bait.

“Why, that would be me, of course.”

_That one has charisma_ , Cashmere thinks. Just as well, considering the other brother is definitely more interested in the interviewer than the interview, while the mother doesn’t speak at all, simply smiles tightly in a way that looks like she’s about to snap.

Once the interviews are done, she heads downstairs for her shift watching Marvel. Johanna goes with her -- she’s helping Haymitch this year, a favor with the expectation that one day Haymitch will help Seven in return. Annie called to let them know a white envelope with Finnick’s name on it arrived at Four’s rooms during the interviews, so Finnick is spending a little time with her before getting ready for tonight’s appointment.

Less than an hour later, the girl from Twelve kills Marvel mere minutes after he spears the girl from Eleven. She’s not dead yet, but there’s no way she’s making it out alive, not with that wound.

Seeder clutches Chaff’s shoulder as the girls say their goodbyes. And then…

This. This is why Mags wants Katniss Everdeen for the rebellion. She’s on the big screen singing her ally -- no, her friend -- to sleep. The camera doesn’t leave her when she gathers flowers and essentially holds a funeral for her fallen friend. It’s like it can’t.

Katniss Everdeen would have flunked presentation in the Tribute Training Center. And that’s the exact reason she’s perfect for the rebellion.

**oOo**

The rule change is shocking.

Katniss finding Peeta camouflaged by the stream is shocking.

The two of them realizing they’re soulmates and immediately kissing is shocking.

Cashmere is all out of shock.

It’s been a crazy Games -- from the dark horse districts to the boy from Three reactivating the mines to the mostly-dead Careers to a tribute getting a sponsorship gift from _another district_ to Peeta’s bombshell to, well, this. Cashmere can’t predict where it’s going to go.

It gets even more shocking. The Feast, the girl from Five showing them all she’s more than anyone expected, the boy from Eleven _letting the girl from Twelve go_.

There’s something rising in the Victors -- the ones Cashmere knows are rebels, the one she suspects are rebels, the ones she’s not sure about. Even the loyalists are moved. They start stealing a glance here, a touch there. Beetee has to give Mags more than one new bug zapper after she keeps using them up.

The Games are all anyone in the Capitol is talking about. It’s always a hit, but this… this is more. Cashmere and Gloss fuck in front of a screen showing Thresh and Cato’s fight and Thresh’s death, and for once their audience is more interested in the Games than them.

And then the girl from Five kills herself. Oh, it doesn’t look like it at first glance, of course. But she’s clever. Sly.

Lumen meets Cashmere, Gloss, and Barlie on the roof that night. They look like old friends, Victors much the same age whose tributes are dead, watching the partying in the Capitol. Probably because they are. But they’re not just that. “She knew her plants,” Lumen tells them. “She told us doing so well on plant identification was how she got a five from the Gamemakers.” He sighs. “She was smart. She had to have suspected what the Capitol wants.”

“A fight between Two and Twelve,” Barlie says.

Lumen nods. “The Consummate Career against the Kids on Fire.”

Cashmere pushes her hair out of her face. It’s windy up here. “In another day, it’ll be over.”

**oOo**

And then there’s the mutts.

Cashmere looks around at the other Victors -- they’ve all moved down to Mentor Central for the finale -- and sees the same horror she’s experiencing.

Those aren’t their tributes. They’ve seen the bodies, prepared them for the trips back to their districts. But the resemblance is uncanny and disturbing and makes every single one of them, even the loyalists, want to run screaming from the Capitol.

No one can help any of the tributes now. Not Haymitch, not Brutus, not the rest of them. So instead they bear witness as Cato takes hours to die at the teeth and claws of mutts made in the image of their tributes. Once Katniss finally gives him mercy, they wait for the announcement of the Victor -- or Victors.

It doesn’t come.

“Greetings to the final contestants of the 74th Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed,” Claudius Templesmith announces. “Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

The reaction is silent but swift. Every single person in this room has won a Hunger Games. Every single person in this room has killed in cold blood. Every single person in this room is appalled at the Capitol’s duplicity. Even District Four. Even District One.

Even District Two.

Right now, if President Snow were here, he’d be dead in an instant. There isn’t a single Capitolite left in the room -- no aides, not even an Avox. They’d probably be dead if they were.

But the kids don’t kill each other. Instead they outsmart the Capitol. District Twelve pulls off something that no one has ever done before: both of their tributes make it out alive.

Cashmere leans into Gloss, resting a hand on her soulmark. Katniss and Peeta will always have each other, but that’s going to be both a curse and a blessing. Unless they can get this rebellion off the ground. 

This is it. This is their chance.

It’s time to take advantage of it.

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Every single person in this room has killed in cold blood.  
> Google Docs: Every single person in this room has been killed in cold blood.  
> Me: ...They're not zombies, dude. Please stop with the terrible grammar suggestions.


	17. Step One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point we've gone full canon-divergent AU into the same universe as Words of Revolution: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993737

**oOo**

They don’t get the chance.

Before Katniss and Peeta get out of the hospital, all of the Victors except for Haymitch are packed onto trains and sent back to their districts. Usually they stick around through the Victory Banquet, but President Snow wants them gone.

Cashmere doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Caesar. She usually gets at least one night with him after the Games, even if they have to keep up the charade of him buying her for sex. But not this year.

She finds herself missing it. Missing him.

Especially when she sees how Gloss and Lacy are growing together. She’s glad her brother is getting a chance for the romance he should have had ten years ago. She just wishes she could have it herself.

For the first time since she won the Hunger Games, she hopes she’s summoned to the Capitol for the Victory Tour. Sure, she’ll have appointments. But at least she’ll see Caesar.

**oOo**

She’s not summoned to the Capitol for the Victory Tour.

And neither is anyone else.

Usually, popular Victors start going up to a month before. But Lacy isn’t summoned this year even though she’s only been a Victor for two years and is still very much in demand, and neither are Cashmere and Gloss, who are popular at parties. Silverbelle, who still has one patron, isn’t summoned either.

When Cashmere calls Enobaria the day before the Victory Tour starts under the guise of wanting to chat with a friend, she finds out that neither Augustine nor Claudia, Victors of the 71st and 73rd Games, has been summoned, despite their popularity. Neither has Enobaria herself even though she still has occasional buyers, and the same goes for the rest of Two’s Victors.

Next she tries Finnick. He’s still in Four, as is Annie. She passes along her news about One and Two to him -- he’ll get it to Mags, who’s as in command as any of them are.

She checks with Eight, Seven, Three, and Ten just in case, but all their Victors are still at home -- unsurprising, since Johanna was the most popular of the lot and she hasn’t had an appointment in a good three years. And that’s it for everyone who’s won since the 61st Games, which includes almost everyone who’s still sold. Not a single one of them has been recalled.

They’re even kept away from the Victory Tour itself. Usually Victors are invited to the dinner in their district; this year they’re specifically told to stay at home. 

Someone wants the Kids on Fire isolated. Someone with serious power.

They watch the TV coverage instead, knowing it’s the only way to see what’s happening. It’s a mess, to be honest. Katniss’s makeup can’t hide the paleness of her face, or the way she regularly excuses herself as though she needs to be sick. Peeta’s trying, and in any other year he might succeed -- but not this one.

Cashmere finally sees her soulmate when he does the Victory Tour interview. He looks older. Tired. She wishes she was there.

And then Katniss and Peeta announce they got married, and no, they hadn’t invited anyone -- including the Capitol or President Snow -- to the wedding. 

Cashmere flashes back to Johanna, who did exactly the same thing. And then, six months after she announced her marriage, her soulmate was dead.

What is President Snow planning on doing to these two?

Once again, Cashmere and Gloss exchange a glance when they hear the announcement. Once again, Caesar’s trying to save the Victory Tour. And once again, he’s not a miracle worker. The Capitol is angry, worse than they were for Johanna.

This is going to be very very bad.

**oOo**

“On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that soulmarks are a mark of rebellion against the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be Reaped from all those aged twelve and up with soulmarks. No one is exempt.”

Cashmere can’t move. Her entire body is frozen. She sits still as a statue on Lacy’s couch and lets the ice rush through her veins.

Her name is going to be in the Reaping Bowl.

And not just her name.

Radiance. Silk. Brilliance. Johanna. Haymitch. Katniss. Peeta. _That’s the reason, isn’t it?_ Katniss and Peeta are getting Reaped again. No one else’s names will even be in the bowls in Twelve.

Everyone is staring at her. The eight living Victors of District One gathered to watch the Quell announcement together -- Sparkle, Onyx, Truffle, Shiny, Silverbelle, Cashmere, Gloss, and Lacy. They went to Lacy’s house to watch and plan because she’s the only one without family living with her; when she won the Games, her parents and siblings stayed down south near the chocolate production.

Her mind is wandering, thinking of inconsequential things to avoid the problem.

Everyone is still staring at her. Lacy looks confused but like she’s figuring it out, and the rest of them know already. Cashmere has a soulmark. One her stylist has seen, one her yearmates have seen, one her parents and siblings have seen. She can’t hide it. She can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

“Half the eighteen-year-olds have soulmarks,” Onyx says. “I’ll speak--”

Cashmere holds up a hand; he falls silent. She needs time to think. She can’t think if they’re all yammering at her.

“So,” Shiny says brightly after a few moments of silence, “who’s up for a hike?” She glances at Cashmere. “First thing tomorrow.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Truffle agrees.

Sparkle nods firmly. “Well, let’s all meet at the gate at seven. Pack for a long hike. We’ll decide on our route tomorrow.” Then, she moves more firmly into her role as senior Victor. “All of you go home. Let’s take the night to think.” Her gaze sweeps over all of them, firm until it reaches Cashmere, where it turns sympathetic. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

When she gets home, Cashmere doesn’t go inside, even though Gloss does. He can deal with their family; she needs to think. The stars are always beautiful here, so even though it’s a chilly night, she lies on her back on her lounger and stares at the sky. Sometimes she wishes she could just drift into the stars and never come home.

Katniss and Peeta are going to be Reaped. Haymitch is safe even though he has a soulmark and is a rebel and there’s no upper age limit, which was clearly intentional; there can only be one male tribute per district, and Twelve’s will be Peeta.

She and Gloss have done everything demanded of them; there’s no reason to punish their family by drawing Radiance, Silk, or Brilliance. And if they’re drawn, Onyx is right: One has plenty of potential volunteers.

But. Snow wants Katniss and Peeta dead. Katniss and Peeta went up against two of Two’s best last year and won. Snow isn’t going to want to risk them surviving again. He’ll want a known quantity. A proven killer. Someone he can guarantee will be able to take them out. And he intentionally didn’t exempt the Victors.

That means her or Johanna.

Weighing the two of them in her mind, Cashmere knows immediately it’s going to be her. Johanna isn’t popular with the Capitol, and she’s always been a bit of a loose cannon. While she’s done what she’s had to do to save her district, there’s no one close to threaten her with, and she might decide Seven is worth sacrificing to thumb her nose at the Capitol one more time. Besides, Snow probably wouldn’t kill _all_ of Seven.

But Cashmere… she’s loyal as far as the Capitol knows. She’s never gone against the Capitol’s wishes. She has Gloss, Caesar, five younger siblings, their families, her parents, the rest of One’s Victors -- even Finnick and Johanna and Enobaria and Barlie and Lumen. There’s a lot of people to hold over her head.

District One could go against those wishes. The twenty-three eighteen-year-olds at the Tribute Training Center, the kids who were five when she was seventeen -- about half of them have soulmarks. Whichever girl would usually be picked as the volunteer could take her place, or maybe the second or third choice. Yes, Onyx and Silverbelle will have fewer to choose from, but they’ll have enough.

For a moment she allows herself to revel in the fantasy. But only for a moment.

One of the few truly good things she can say she’s done in this life is volunteering for someone. She saved someone’s life. And she took six others. _Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle._

She is a rebel. She’s not sure how, but she’s going to get Katniss and Peeta out of that Arena alive.

She is meant to be Snow’s weapon. Instead she will be his downfall. Or she’ll die. Either is possible. 

The door to her house opens, and her mother emerges. Cashmere doesn’t move, just watches her mother approach. It’s been a long time since they’ve spoken about anything more personal than passing the salt at dinner or how much snow the last storm left.

Her mother sits down on a chair next to her. “Are you okay?”

Cashmere raises an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

Her mother winces. “I deserved that.”

She doesn’t justify that with an answer.

“I’m… worried.” When Cashmere just stares at her, her mother sighs and says, “About Radiance, Silk, and Brilliance. And… about you.”

“Really.”

Her mother stares at her hands. “I never knew what to do with you. I don’t know if you realize, but I was eight months pregnant with you and Gloss at my final Reaping. Tatting and I… we were kids, and stupid, and we weren’t careful enough, and I got pregnant. So there we were, six days past our final Reaping, married for only five days, and we suddenly had twins a month before you were due. Your soulmark concerned us at first -- why would anyone identify you by your district -- but we put it out of our minds.”

“Until it changed color.”

She nods sharply and wrings her hands. “Until it changed color. I was changing your clothing one day and realized that your soulmark, which had always been purple, was dark amber. We thought maybe we’d misremembered, hadn’t been paying close enough attention. But the next year… the next year, it turned light green. We had no idea what that could mean, or what to do about it. Neither of us had ever even heard of such a thing, and asking around the district didn’t get us any more answers.”

Cashmere sits up so she can face her mother on more equal footing. She understands being eighteen and stupid. Gloss probably gets it more. But so far everything her mother has said is only an explanation -- it doesn’t excuse her actions.

She’s a little surprised her mother doesn’t seem to realize who her soulmate is. She and Caesar exchanged words live on national television during Mandatory Viewing. Yes, they were discreet -- anyone who doesn’t know their words almost certainly didn’t realize they were soulmates meeting for the first time. But both of them have extremely unique words, and literally everyone in Panem saw it happen. Anyone who _does_ know their words should have figured it out.

Did her mother block out that knowledge? Did she spend so many years trying to forget Cashmere’s soulmark that she actually succeeded in doing so? Cashmere could tell her mother who her soulmate is, but she doesn’t particularly want to. A part of her feels gleeful at withholding that one piece of information from her parents. They’ll never know why her soulmark changes color every year.

She wonders what color it will be when she goes into the Quell.

“When your first child is born, you start getting flyers and brochures about the Tribute Training Center. They keep coming until you sign a child up for the Training Center. Longer if you don’t. Stipends are offered. All sorts of benefits. We… it seemed like the best solution at the time.”

Cashmere shrugs. “I did like the school, I’ll give you that. But you separated me from Gloss. And being a Victor is… it’s hard.” She still can’t tell her mother the full truth, not that she wants to, but some of it should be obvious to anyone. She can talk about that much. “We’re in charge of teaching those kids, choosing them, and sending two of them to their likely deaths every year. We get to know them. And most of them don’t make it.”

Her mother nods, still wringing her hands. Then in a rush she says, “Radiance and Silk and Brilliance. None of them are -- they’re not…”

“Killers?” Cashmere says flatly. Her sisters aren’t killers. She is.

With a wince, her mother nods again. “Radiance is too old. She wasn’t even supposed to be at risk this year.”

“She’s still not at risk.”

Her mother looks straight at her for the first time this conversation. “What do you mean?”

Yet again, Cashmere isn’t going to tell her the full truth. “District One always has volunteers.”

“What if none of them have soulmarks?”

“I believe about half of the eighteen-year-olds in the Tribute Training Center have soulmarks, though Onyx will know better. There’s also the seventeen-year-olds if need be. And if it comes to it, I’ll volunteer.”

“Thank y--”

Cashmere holds up a hand. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Radiance and Silk and Brilliance. I will do what I have to do to keep them safe.”

Except she’s not, she realizes. If she does what she’s planning -- protecting Katniss and Peeta even at the risk of her own life -- she’ll be risking everything. Her siblings will be prime targets for either revenge or control. Coldness settles over her as her mother thanks her again and rushes back inside. She’ll have to do what she can to protect them.

But if it comes to it, she’s still going to take down the Capitol. Because that’s more important than anything, even her family.

**oOo**

The next day, the Victors head out on a hike to the middle of nowhere. They check each other for bugs before they leave, then pick a route at random, rolling a die to decide which way to go at each fork. If even they don’t know where they’re going, there’s no way for anyone to set up bugs before they get there.

Around four hours later, they’re in a secluded valley between two of One’s mile-high peaks.

Sparkle sets her pack down with a sigh. “This is a lot of hiking for an old lady like me.” She’s in her mid-sixties but doesn’t look it -- all of them keep in shape. 

Truffle pulls a water bottle out of his pack and downs half of it. “This is as good a place as any.”

With mutual agreement, they sit down and settle in for a long talk. Sparkle pulls something out of her bag. “One last bit of security,” she says before activating it.

A fizz goes through Cashmere’s body, not quite identical to when Mags used the bug zapper, but similar. It must be another of Beetee’s toys, which means Sparkle is in this rebellion deeper than Cashmere knew. Mags must be keeping them all somewhat separate. You can’t give away people you don’t know about.

Cashmere tucks her knees up and rests her chin on them. “My name is going to be drawn.”

“You can’t be sure--” Gloss starts.

She silences him with a glare. “Does everyone agree this Quell was chosen to get rid of Katniss and Peeta?” Everyone nods or makes noises of agreement. “They won last year, got both of them out of the Arena. Cato and Clove were top-rated, and Glimmer would’ve had a good chance in any other year. Marvel and the two from Four weren’t quite as good, but they were good, and the boy from Eleven could have won in other circumstances. Hell, the girl from Five and the boy from Three had skills and plans, and even the girl from Eleven was capable, assuming she could kill. There were a lot of qualified tributes last year. And Katniss and Peeta still survived. They’re also incredibly popular, even after throwing over the Capitol with that marriage announcement.”

“But what does that have to do with you?” Silverbelle asks, her brow furrowed.

“President Snow wants them dead,” Sparkle says, like she’s already put some of the pieces together but is finalizing it now. “He’s going to want to send in someone with a guaranteed track record to take them down.”

“And someone popular,” Cashmere agrees. “It’d be Finnick if he qualified, but he doesn’t. But did you notice, there’s a lower age limit but no upper? And Victors weren’t excluded like we usually are. There’s a specific Victor he wants. I’m pretty sure it’s me.”

There’s silence for a moment before Lacy asks, “How many Victors have soulmarks?”

“Haymitch Abernathy,” Shiny says. “Katniss and Peeta. Johanna Mason. And Cashmere. I think that’s it.”

“Old Woof does,” Sparkle says. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but his wife was his soulmate. She died three years ago. His mark’s on his side. I remember seeing it in the reruns of his Games.”

“Edsel and Appaloosa from Six,” Truffle adds. Everyone looks at him. “They’re each other’s soulmates. Both of them got through their few short years of popularity after Victory by turning to morphling, and, well…” He shrugs. “Edsel’s the year after me, remember. We talked about it once. He asked me not to tell anyone.”

Finding out about those three doesn’t change Cashmere’s calculations. Woof is over eighty and fully senile, and Edsel and Appaloosa are addicted to morphling. None of them has a chance of getting near Katniss or Peeta, let alone killing them.

Everyone else comes to the same conclusions. Those three aren’t options. Haymitch isn’t an option.

“But why not Johanna?” Gloss asks, his voice half-pleading. “Why you?”

Silverbelle nods at him sympathetically. “Cashmere is right. She’s popular, beautiful, and a proven Victor. Johanna is not popular and, well... ”

“Kind of off-the-rails,” Shiny puts in.

“And if they don’t draw me, they could draw Radiance, Silk, or Brilliance,” Cashmere says to her brother, who stiffens. “I’d volunteer for any of them.”

“We could still send regular volunteers,” Onyx points out. “I’d have to check to be certain, but I know about half of the eighteen-year-olds have soulmarks. I’m leaning toward Cognac for the boys, but I’m not certain if he has a soulmark; Porcelain definitely has one, however, so he could do in a pinch. I’m still debating the girls, but Beauty and Perfume were both on my list and both of them have soulmarks. I’m less certain about Lux, but she was on my list as well.”

“I’m not letting anyone sacrifice themselves for me. Can you imagine how President Snow will punish the district if we don’t do what he wants? If I’m wrong and they draw a random kid, sure, get one of them to volunteer. But if I’m right and it’s me or one of our sisters, I don’t want them taking my place.”

She’s still ice-cold.

Gloss leans over to hug her, but he stops before he reaches her. She knows she’s giving off an air of don’t-touch-me. Grabbing his hand, Lacy tugs him back; he clutches her even though his other hand hovers toward Cashmere.

Sparkle must be a rebel, Gloss is a rebel. Truffle, Shiny, and Silverbelle are on her maybe list, but she’s honestly not certain -- and she’s almost certain they’re not _all_ rebels. She’s pretty sure both Onyx and Lacy are loyal to the Capitol. She can’t tell them what she’s going to do. She can’t tell them her plan. But she needs them to protect her family.

Cashmere doesn’t look at the rest of them when she speaks. “If I don’t kill Katniss and Peeta -- and I might not, that girl is deadly with a bow -- there could be…” She licks her lips. “Repercussions.”

With a slow nod, Sparkle says, “That’s a possibility. I’ll speak to Kona about keeping your family safe.” Kona is her husband, a man who made it through the Tribute Training Center but wasn’t picked to be the volunteer in his year despite his giant size. “Will you speak to your family about listening to him?”

Cashmere raises an eyebrow at Gloss, who groans but says, “Yeah, I’ll handle it.”

Onyx clears his throat. “I know you’ve been living in Cashmere’s house, Gloss. But you and the rest of your family may want to move anything important into yours, so no one is unprepared if the worst happens.”

Gloss nods, and Cashmere agrees. She has a few things she wants to distribute if she dies; she’ll give those to Gloss.

After that, they discuss details. Who’s going to be mentors. Cashmere picks Shiny for herself if she goes in again -- Shiny helped her a lot in her first Games, and she can’t imagine choosing anyone else. Silverbelle offers to take the boy, and Shiny says she’ll take the girl even if it isn’t Cashmere. Lacy’s highly likely to still be busy with appointments. If Cashmere is the tribute, Gloss will still be sold but will probably be significantly less popular. If Cashmere isn’t, the two of them will have their usual circuit of performative sex at parties. But that leaves Sparkle, Onyx, and Truffle without firm plans; they’ll act as support for the main mentors. They discuss what to say to whoever’s chosen as a female tribute so she only volunteers in certain circumstances. They discuss what they’ll do to help the families if something goes wrong and Snow gets angry and come up with a number of options, though they’ll have to confirm with the people who will actually be in One -- since it won’t be any of them.

By the time they finish and start to head for home, Cashmere feels better. There are plans in place -- for her, for the families. 

She never once tells them she won’t be entering the Arena to win but to protect the revolution’s best hope.

Gloss and Cashmere hang back as the rest of them leave, taking up positions at the end of the Victor queue. “I don’t want to lose you,” he says once everyone else is far enough ahead that they can talk quietly and not be heard.

Cashmere wants to take his hand, but she also doesn’t want to touch anyone right now. “I know. I’m going to do my best to come out alive, Gloss.”

His gaze penetrates her down to her soul. “Are you? Are you really?”

She can’t hold his eyes and lets hers drop.

“Damn it, Cash! Now who’s the complete cannonbait fool? ‘Cause it’s not me!”

Sparkle turns to look at them, and Cashmere gestures for her to keep going. “Gloss. Do you want life to be like this forever? People starving in the districts, the Capitol and its decadence, twenty-three children dying every year for something that happened before their grandparents were born let alone them, the torture that is life as a Victor? Do you want that? Because right now, right here, this is the chance to finally break that cycle. I believe in this rebellion. Do you?”

“You know I do.”

“So believe in me.”

“Do you even have a plan?”

“Keep them alive. Hope there’s a way out.” She stares at her hand. It’s unscarred even though she took a cut from a sword in her Games which didn’t have time to heal properly. The wonders of Capitol healing. “I know Mags is planning, and whoever else is in this. I know there’s people I don’t know about. We’re one tiny part of this rebellion, Gloss, but right now I’m the one in a position to do something. So let me do it.”

He sweeps her up in his arms. She welcomes the hug even though she thought she wouldn’t. “Come back to me, Cash. Please.”

This she can promise and mean what she says. “I’ll do my best.”

**oOo**


	18. One Hand, One Heart

**oOo**

Cashmere was right: her name is the very first one drawn from the bowl for the 75th Hunger Games. With a cool look at Beauty, who has her mouth open to volunteer even though she was told not to, Cashmere takes her place on the stage. It’s a good thing she’s spent the last two months training as hard as she can. She’s ready, as ready as she can be.

Cognac joins her a few moments later when he volunteers after a fourteen-year-old boy Cashmere doesn’t recognize is drawn.

It’s been thirteen years, and she’s going back into the Arena.

The goodbyes are quiet. Only her family comes; she’ll see her only friends, the Victors, on the train anyway.

Her parents still don’t know what to say to her, but they try. Polish and his wife and their five children offer hugs, as do Angora and her husband and their two. Radiance comes alone; she hasn’t found her soulmate yet, and she’s not willing to settle for anything else. Silk tells Cashmere she and her soulmate Crystal have plans for a September wedding now that they’re both out of the Reaping, and they hope Cashmere will be able to make it. She promises to come if she can. She doesn’t say why that might not be possible, but all of them know. Brilliance clutches her for a while, a rare action for the teenager. Cashmere holds her and just breathes, remembering her as a tiny trusting child who helped her heal the first time through.

At the end, Gloss comes even though he’ll be on the train. They sit in silence for most of their five minutes. 

Just before he leaves, he says, “Do your best in there? I don’t want to lose a sister.” He said the same thing before her first Games.

So she replies the same way. “I will. I promise.” 

**oOo**

They watch the Reapings on the train. Most look just like a normal Games except with more obvious soulmarks, teens who had to register because they couldn’t hide their words. There’s one elderly couple from Three who hold each other’s hands when they’re onstage together.

Johanna volunteers in Seven, and Cashmere wonders if she’s doing it for the rebellion or just for the twelve-year-old whose life she saved. She’s torn; it will be nice to have a partner in protecting the Kids on Fire, but she doesn’t want to watch her friend die.

And then it’s Twelve, and unsurprisingly a visibly-pregnant Katniss and a worried-looking Peeta are pulled.

More surprisingly, they don’t end up the tributes.

“Think Finnick’s going to be upset his title of youngest volunteer has been usurped?” Gloss jokes when Primrose Everdeen takes the stage.

Silverbelle grins. “Oh, of course.”

Primrose Everdeen has presence. She’s not her sister, no. But interestingly she’s almost a mix of her sister, her brother-in-law, and the little girl from Eleven in the 74th Games. It’s a stunning combination.

There’s three volunteers for Peeta, and it makes a certain amount of sense to see one of his brothers take his place. It’s Bing, the brother with charisma, the one who joked about wrestling during the Final Eight interviews last year.

Well.

Her mission has just changed.

They still need the Kids on Fire. But Snow’s ploy failed; they’re not in the Arena after all, and killing them in Mentor Central could come back to bite him. But he might think killing their siblings will break them, even if Cashmere’s not so sure. They’re still Victors. They don’t have it in them to lie down and die, no matter what.

Cashmere’s going into the Games. She has a built-in ally and two possible protectees, along with an elderly couple, a bunch of scared kids, and a few Careers. She’s going to have to speak to Johanna and Mags and Haymitch and work out their strategy.

Because no matter what happens, it’s going to be an interesting Games.

**oOo**

After the parade, Cashmere slips out of One’s rooms downstairs to a storeroom of all places. Mags gave Gloss directions while pretending to be discussing alliances, and Gloss passed them on to her.

Beetee is already there, and he smiles absently when she comes in and finds a spot to sit. He’s fiddling with something, maybe making sure there’s no bugs? Cashmere doesn’t know anything about electricity, so there’s no way she can tell.

Johanna stalks in a few minutes later and throws herself onto a box. “My district partner is a fucking moron,” she says.

“What’d he do?”

“He’s convinced he’s going to find his soulmate among the other tributes, fall in love with her, and win the Games with her ‘just like Katniss and Peeta’!” Her voice positively drips with sarcasm. “Idiot seems to think he’s the only one with a soulmate in the Games.”

Beetee shakes his head. “He’s certainly wrong; Diode and Alva are soulmates, and I strongly suspect they are not the only ones.”

Cashmere grins. “Honestly this is making me look forward to tomorrow.”

Haymitch slips in next, a bottle of rotgut in one hand.

“There’s better crap to drink around here,” Johanna says. “Why are you drinking that shit?”

“I ain’t had a drink in two fucking months, so give me a break. Peeta dumped all my alcohol after the Quell announcement, insisted on training like Careers. Withdrawal’s a bitch.” He takes a swig. “Ah. Much better.”

Cashmere raises an eyebrow. “I highly doubt you managed to train like Careers.” Two months can’t make up for the fourteen years of full-time training One and Two go through, or even the fourteen years of part-time training Four does.

“Nah, but we did train once the kids worked out they’d be in it. Wasn’t expecting their sibs to take their places. Thought I’d have to volunteer myself and hope I could get Katniss and the baby out alive.” He shrugs. “Probably should’ve guessed these two would volunteer. Now that I think about it, they were strangely insistent that Katniss and Peeta needed training partners.”

So Bing and Primrose planned this. At least they’ll go in somewhat prepared, though that’s no guarantee.

“And you didn’t put it together?” Johanna asks with a raised eyebrow.

Haymitch takes a swig. “Fuck off, I think better when I’m drunk.”

Mags and Finnick finally make their way inside, and once the door is closed behind them, Beetee does something to whatever he’s working on. That same fizz goes through Cashmere’s body, but there’s an added feeling of almost lightning in her sinuses. As always, presentation training is the only reason she gets through it without a sound.

Mags signs something, and Finnick asks, “How long do we have?” Cashmere knows some sign language because Mags has been using it for a couple of years, but she’s not fluent the way Finnick is. She’s only getting about half of what Mags is saying.

“Somewhere between half an hour and forty-five minutes. I’ll have to maintain the connection, but I’ll warn you if it looks like we’re going to lose it.”

Mags nods.

“So what’s the plan?” Johanna asks. “Are we protecting Twelve? It’s not the Kids on Fire after all.”

“The plan is to protect the kids from Twelve and get them -- and you -- as far south as you can in the Arena and wait for a pickup.” The voice is Finnick’s but the words are Mags’s. “From what my contact tells me, you’re looking for a spot where you can see a giant green statue of a person. If you get that far, they’ll find you and pick you up.”

Cashmere and Johanna exchange a glance. “A pickup?” Cashmere asks. “A pickup from who?”

Mags grins and manages to say in a very garbled voice, “District Thirteen.”

There’s a moment of silence before Johanna starts cackling. “Thirteen? What the fuck?”

It takes Haymitch, Beetee, and Mags -- with Finnick translating -- some time to explain. Apparently District Thirteen still exists, and they’ve been setting up for a revolution for decades. That was  _ not _ on the list of things Cashmere expected to find out at this meeting. On the other hand, knowing there’s a plan to get her and the others out of the Arena is incredibly reassuring.

She and Johanna are still on babysitting duty, since they think the siblings of the Kids on Fire might be important, if only for motivation. Whatever, Cashmere knows perfectly well that she’s going to be the most deadly person in that Arena. Given Johanna’s three kills in her Games and assuming one each for Cognac and the two from Two, Cashmere has killed as many people as everyone else going into the Arena combined.

_ Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle. _

She doesn’t particularly want to kill, especially not kids, but if she has to for the rebellion, she damn well will. Plus, she’s been training for months. She never truly got out of shape, but she’s in better shape than ever. Hopefully she can hold the others off without killing, but she’s prepared to do it if she has to.

“What about the Victors?” Cashmere asks. “And the families back home.”

Beetee frowns. “We’ll do what we can to get them out.”

“No guarantees,” Haymitch says with another swig. “Thirteen said they’ll do what they can. I think they see us as a resource. And I’ve tried to impress the importance of family, but…” He waves a hand aimlessly.

Mags signs and Finnick says, “We will do our best.”

Cashmere nods slowly. She’s glad One’s Victors already made plans for the families from One, and Kona knows what to look for. Maybe she’ll ask Sparkle to call him and check in anyway. She thinks about Caesar, her hand over the turquoise blue writing on her upper arm. He probably won’t be a priority for anyone but her, and she’s not sure she can ask for him anyway -- he’s too Capitol, too important, too trackable.

“Do your best to get Gloss out?” she says instead. “Please.”

Mags nods. “We will.”

**oOo**

The next morning, their three days of training start, and things immediately go sideways.

The boy from Two shouts, “Out of my way, cannonbait!” while shoving the boy from Eleven aside on his way to the swords.

The boy from Eleven responds with, “Fuck you, I ain’t going anywhere.”

And then the two of them are staring at each other.

That starts a chain. Everyone introduces themselves to everyone else except for those who are already paired off. The couple from Three are over tying knots, the girls from Six and Nine -- who both apparently already know their soulmates -- head off in different directions, and the kids from Twelve are over by edible plants. Maybe they both know their soulmates too?

Cashmere and Johanna stand watching the chaos. There are sixteen kids greeting each other, pairing off, and heading to different corners of the gym, and not a single pair is from the same district. Every single one of them is ignoring the trainers trying to corral them to the training stations, choosing instead to spend time with their newly found soulmates. The girl from Eleven and the boy from Five are left soulmate-less at the end of it all, so the two of them wander off in different directions.

Cashmere almost has to laugh at the sheer insanity.

“Wanna spar?” Johanna asks.

“You bet your ass I do. My knives, your axes?”

“Fuck yeah.”

**oOo**

“Greet the kids today?” Johanna asks the second morning.

“Yeah, we should start building the alliance.” Cashmere looks at the gym. Everyone is once again in their soulmate pairs, with the singletons off by themselves. Except Twelve. The two from Twelve are together.

_ Hm. _

“Sparring again?”

Cashmere sighs regretfully. “I wish. But we should probably at least check out the survival stations, see if there’s anything they can tell us about the Arena.”

Johanna grimaces. “I hate that you’re right.”

Based on what Cashmere remembers about survival, her best guess is the Arena is going to be some sort of forest, and Johanna agrees with that impression. They both know enough about the Games not to take it as a given, but it’s still potentially useful information. Johanna’s better at the practical skills -- the Tribute Training Center spends time on survival, sure, but more time on combat and presentation, since Careers usually have the Cornucopia and sponsor gifts to fall back on. Besides, Cashmere last took those classes thirteen years ago, and they’re not the ones she teaches; even though she’s practiced some survival skills in the last two months, she’s still a bit rusty. She concentrated more on sprinting and knife throwing, skills she knows she’ll need, and she’s at the top of her game on those.

They don’t approach the kids from Twelve during the morning; the kids are very occupied with each other, and neither Johanna nor Cashmere wants to interrupt right away.

But lunch is coming up, so when they’re cleaning up at the fire-making station, Cashmere says, “How do you want to play this?”

Johanna grins. “I’ve got a secret weapon.” At Cashmere’s raised eyebrow, she opens her pocket just enough to reveal a flask which Cashmere vaguely recognizes as Haymitch’s.

“Ah.” Cashmere thinks through their strategy. Her eye catches on the Gamemakers watching the tributes head to lunch from the elevated stands. She recognizes most of them -- some because they’ve fucked her, some because they’ve watched Gloss fuck her, some because of both. At least a few are fanatically loyal to President Snow. That’s a problem. She lowers her voice as much as possible and moves them to the least likely spot in the room to be bugged -- dead center, in an open space where a microphone would be hard to hide. People will see them talking, but as long as they can’t hear them, it’ll be okay. “You know why I was Reaped, right?”

Johanna keeps her voice just as low. “Snow wanted you to kill the Kids on Fire, yeah. Too bad for him they’re not here.”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably still want me to kill Twelve’s tributes. I can’t be seen being friendly with them.” Her eyes flick to the Gamemakers who are pretending not to watch them now that they’re the only tributes left in the room. “Too many of the Gamemakers would let Snow know.”

“You’ll have to in the Arena if we’re going with our plan.”

“I know. But I don’t want him threatening to kill my family before we’re even in there.” What she doesn’t say is that such a threat might work. She has to pretend the threat won’t exist or she’ll never be able to do what they’re planning on.

Johanna sighs. “Yeah, you have too many people to protect.  _ Lucky _ for me I don’t. I’m going to head over there because we need to start building it with at least one of us. What should I tell the kids?”

“If they ask, I’m in, but keep it quiet.”

Johanna nods. Then her voice goes up, becoming purposefully loud. “Well, I like you, Dubois, but I think we’re going to have to find our own alliances.”

Cashmere smirks. “I’m planning on going it alone, Mason. Have fun playing with the babies if you want to.”

Johanna goes to walk away, then turns back to her. “Even if you’re determined to go solo, we’re fucking well sparring again tomorrow. You’re the only one here who can give me a challenge.”

“Oh you are so on.”

While Johanna heads for the food, Cashmere takes a minute to go to the bathroom. She uses the toilet of course, but once she’s done, she just sits for a few minutes. She’s really doing this. She’s really going back into the Arena. She’s really going to protect these kids even though it might mean her family dies.

Fuck, she wants Caesar.

Okay, so it’s not like her soulmate can do anything. But right now, she wants to lie in bed with him and let him hold her and then have waffles for breakfast.

After a few minutes, she makes herself go back out to the training area, grab her food, and sit in the corner where no one can sneak up on her but she can see what’s going on. 

Bing is examining the flask Johanna just handed him while Primrose leans into him. If those two aren’t soulmates, she’ll eat her hat.

Other than that, it’s much the same as the day before. Each of the couples pairs off, while the solo tributes sit by themselves. Cashmere wonders how that’s going to play out in the Arena. Usually the Careers stick together, but every single Career is soulmates with a non-Career. 

This is going to be a weird Games.

**oOo**


	19. The Next Ten Minutes

**oOo**

Cashmere does what’s expected of her at her private session with the Gamemakers, and she isn’t surprised when she once again scores a ten, the highest score of the year.

The next morning, there’s an envelope waiting with her name on it, and her heart stops. She’s a tribute, not a Victor, and she _shouldn’t be sold_.

Except.

The envelope isn’t white. It’s pale pale pink. Accompanying it isn’t a rose. Instead there’s a flower arrangement, one she recognizes. It’s one of the ones she made for her talent, way back when the Capitol pretended to care that she arranged flowers. Way back when she actually bothered. The whole thing is still on the usual silver tray, but it’s not the same.

With unsteady fingers, she opens the envelope and takes out the paper inside. The fear is making the letters squirm and bounce worse than ever, but she can see at a glance that it’s not identical to the notices she usually gets. It’s laid out all wrong. Telling herself that isn’t working, though. The terror isn’t going away, and there’s no way the letters are going to stop moving.

Biting her thumbnail, she considers. Who can she trust with this? 

There’s really only one option. 

She goes down the hall until she finds Gloss’s room and slips inside. He’s not there, and the bed hasn’t been slept in. But he didn’t have an appointment last night. Where could he be?

_Oh_.

She crosses the hall to Lacy’s door and knocks. After a minute or so, Lacy opens the door. She’s wearing what looks like one of Gloss’s shirts, but it’s not hiding all of the marks on her body -- she must have had a rough night. She takes one look at Cashmere then turns and calls toward the bed, “Gloss, Cashmere is here for you!”

He sits up, no shirt on, hair touseled, looking like a sex god. Cashmere is immediately the exact opposite of aroused; he’s her twin brother, and she’s had way too much sex with him to ever want him no matter how attractive he is.

“Hey, is everything okay?” he asks.

Cashmere glances at Lacy, who gestures for her to come inside, and enters the room, closing the door behind her. “There was an envelope with my name on it, but it’s the wrong color and it had the wrong flowers. I opened it but…”

“Reading giving you trouble again?”

She nods and doesn’t look at him as she hands him the letter.

“But you’re a _tribute_ this year,” Lacy says with wide eyes. “You’re not supposed to be sold!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Gloss scans the letter. He’s starting to smile. Maybe it’s not all bad? With a glance at Lacy then Cashmere, he taps his upper arm right where her soulmark is. She nods; he can tell Lacy about Caesar.

“My dear Cashmere,” he reads aloud. “I cannot write all that I wish to say, but it hurts so much to see you a tribute once again. My only hope is your survival; I cannot wish for anything less. Should you wish to see me tonight, there will be a limousine by the Training Center at nine. I do not require your presence; I merely hope for it. No matter what you choose, know you take my love with you everywhere. Yours always, Caesar.”

By the time he finishes, she’s crying. She never once cried during her Games. She never cried any of the times she was sold, including the first time she had to fuck her brother for an audience. She hasn’t cried in the two months she’s known she’s going back to the Games. In fact, the last time she cried was when she thought she might lose Gloss -- the night before his Games. And yet this, this is making her sob.

“Come here,” Gloss says as he puts the letter down and opens his arms. She does, sliding into them and sobbing on his shoulder. “Hey, shh. I’ve got you.” He twines his hand through her curls and pats her back soothingly.

Lacy sits gently on the edge of the bed. “Your soulmate?” she murmurs, barely audible. Cashmere and Gloss both nod. “It sounds like he loves you.”

“He does, Cash.” Gloss keeps patting her back. “He does.”

Clutching his arms, she nods into his shoulder.

“What do you want, Cash? Do you want to see him tonight?”

Lacy picks up the letter and scans it. “He specifically wanted you to have the choice. That’s why it’s not the usual envelope or summons. What type of flowers did he send?”

“An arrangement.” 

“Oh?”

“From my talent.”

“Ah.” Gloss strokes her hair again. “So what do you want?”

What _does_ she want? She climbs out of Gloss’s lap and sits next to him to think.

It’s been a whole year since she last saw Caesar in person, since the night before the interviews for the 74th Games. It seems like everything has changed, like the year went by both as slow as molasses and in an instant all at the same time.

She may never see him again. If she dies, it’s over. If she lives and the revolution succeeds, she’ll hopefully never return to the Capitol. And, to be honest, he might be the one to die -- as punishment for her misdeeds.

If she lives and the revolution fails, she’ll either end up in prison or be sold again. And again. And again. She’d be disturbingly popular: the only Victor of two different Hunger Games. The mere thought makes her shudder. In that case, she’d see Caesar, but the cost -- both financially and to her soul -- would be astronomical.

She wants a hug from her soulmate, and she wants waffles with strawberries and whipped cream for breakfast. “I want to go.”

Lacy frowns. “Will you be allowed? Tributes usually can’t go anywhere.”

“But she’s not the typical tribute, is she?”

Gesturing with the letter, Lacy says, “Let me go check with Sparkle and make sure you get the official okay. Because yeah, you should get this if you want it.” She leaves, still holding the letter.

Cashmere curls up with her head on Gloss’s shoulder, just resting for a bit. Usually today would be a prep day with her mentor and maybe the escort, but she doesn’t need it and everyone knows it. She’ll spend an hour or two on strategy with Shiny this afternoon, but she doesn’t need help with presentation at all. So she has time to relax.

After a few minutes, Gloss squirms a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need a bathroom.” He gets up and heads for the bathroom completely nude.

Cashmere doesn’t bother closing her eyes. She’s seen him naked way too many times. He’s done the same for her. They lost all body modesty when it came to each other around the third time they were forced to have sex. After that, what’s a little nudity between fuckbuddies?

Lacy and Sparkle come in just after Gloss gets out of the bathroom, thankfully wearing pants. Cashmere looks up at them hopefully.

Sparkle sits down next to her with Caesar’s letter. “We have permission for you to go in recognition of your loyalty and your unique status as both a Victor and a tribute, but you have to be back by ten in the morning tomorrow so you have time for makeup, hair, and wardrobe before the interviews. If you’re not, it was implied that one of your siblings would not be happy.”

Cashmere nods. That’s fine. Ten is easy. Besides, Caesar will have to get ready himself; the morning of the interviews is always an early one for him.

“Also, while it was never outright stated, he implied…” Sparkle taps Cashmere’s upper arm with the letter. 

Which means President Snow almost certainly knows Caesar is her soulmate. She sighs. The truth is, while she wishes she’d been able to keep that a secret, her stylist almost certainly reported her words when she had her first Games, and her interview with Caesar was very public. President Snow’s probably known for years.

“And Oceana and Blight both called this morning; apparently Mags and Johanna both want to talk to you about alliances.”

Cashmere raises an eyebrow. That’s clearly code for ‘talk about the rebellion’ on Mags’s part and ‘figure out plans’ on Johanna’s. “Did either of them specify a time?”

“Oceana said late morning would be ideal, while Four’s tributes are working on deportment with their escort. Blight said not to bother coming before lunch.”

“Works for me.”

**oOo**

The meeting with Mags goes as expected -- they confirm the plans one more time under the guise of talking about alliances. Cashmere officially refuses to commit to an alliance with Four, of course. She’s still pretending she’s going to work completely alone. Mags doesn’t really want her to ally with Four anyway, so it works out.

The meeting with Shiny also goes as expected. They discuss some strategy for the Arena but mostly talk about the interviews. Cashmere can’t really change how the Capitol sees her, not now. So she’s just going to play it like she did before, only less sexy-but-innocent and more sexy-but-deadly.

And the meeting with Johanna makes it a hat trick. Under the five minutes granted them by one of Beetee’s bug-blocking devices, they lay out their plans for the Arena, specifically how and where to meet up after the bloodbath, both if they control the Cornucopia and if they don’t. Then, once the device is finished and the surveillance is back, Johanna makes a show of wanting to ally with her, which she of course refuses. That doesn’t take long, so when they’re done, they indulge in Capitol junk food and snark at each other like the old friends they are.

At nine, the limousine comes. She’s going to get twelve hours with her soulmate to say goodbye. Just twelve short hours.

Caesar’s at his house when he arrives, and he greets her with a smile that’s much more real than his usual showman one. “Cashmere.” He kisses her on the cheek and leads her toward the back door. It’s summer, so she doesn’t need her beautiful pale pink peacoat when they sit on the rock by the waterfall.

It’s still a beautiful sight, one she’s going to miss.

They don’t say much; they don’t need to. Instead they sit and watch the water flow. After a while, Caesar stands and offers a hand, which she takes.

And they head upstairs to bed, but not to sleep.

In the morning, they lie together, savoring the feel of each other. This may be their last day together. She kisses his soulmark, he kisses her lips, and it swiftly leads to more.

Afterward, they have waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, and then the limousine comes again to take Cashmere back to the Training Center. They’ll see each other tonight, but it won’t be the same.

Caesar hands her into the car and kisses her hand.

And then it’s over.

**oOo**

“Cashmere Dubois from District One! What a pleasure to see you again, and on your birthday no less. I wanted to be the first to wish one of the most captivating young women I’ve come across a magnificent birthday.” They’re not exactly the same words as her soulmark, but they’re close, and she knows Caesar chose them on purpose.

How can she do anything less? “Why thank you, Caesar. It’s been a truly magnificent birthday so far, and I think tonight will be even better. After all, I’m so honored to be spending my thirty-first birthday getting interviewed by you.” Thirteen years have passed. Thirteen hard terrible years.

But at least she’s had him.

“Trust me,” he says, once again echoing their first meeting, “the honor is all mine.”

She plays up the sexy shtick. While she’s no longer quite so good at sexy-but-innocent -- it’s harder in your thirties when you’re already a known killer -- she’s still good at sexy. Sexy-but-deadly will have to do.

He’s trying. Of course he is. But Cashmere can tell he’s melancholy. She makes it through her interview, then settles down in the audience to watch the other twenty-three. Usually they’re still onstage at this point, but apparently they’re doing it differently this year. Not that she knows why.

Caesar is having trouble. And he keeps glancing at her during the interviews rather than paying full attention to the people he’s interviewing. He didn’t have this trouble thirteen years ago. But then again, she was probably more an idea than a person to him back then -- he certainly was for her. Now, though, now he’s real.

The interviews aren’t helping, either. Few of the tributes are all that interesting -- the Careers attempt to be typical Careers but mostly talk about their soulmates, the couple from Three doesn’t even try, and the kids from the non-Career districts all seem to be fighting tears. Even Johanna talks about her soulmate and how they only had one year together before his ‘lumber accident.’

In fact, if Cashmere’s correct, she’s the only one who talks about the actual Games. And that’s because she’s the only one who wants to keep her soulmate a secret. The girl from Eleven finds her soulmate right before her interview, so she’s in shock, and the boy from Five -- the only one who hasn’t met his yet -- mostly talks about life back in Five.

Frankly, if they were trying to treat this like a normal Games, they’d be failing miserably.

Finally, at the end, Bing Mellark announces that he and Primrose Everdeen are soulmates. Which means there’s a grand total of six tributes out of twenty-four whose soulmates _aren’t_ in the Arena with them.

It doesn’t have the same effect as his brother’s announcement last year -- how could it, after these interviews? But it has an effect.

The districts aren’t happy. From what Cashmere can see, the Capitol isn’t happy.

It’s going to be an interesting Games.

**oOo**

That night, Cashmere once again sneaks into Gloss’s bed. She wasn’t sure if he would be there, but he is, and he’s alone and waiting for her. “Hey,” he says, lifting the covers for her to join him.

It’s possibly her last night with him. She could die tomorrow. He could die once Snow realizes her plan. They might never see each other again.

He cradles her in his arms. “I’ve got you.” He’s security and safety, just like he’s been for as long as she can remember. He’s hers. And once again, she falls asleep in his arms.

**oOo**

Her stylist wakes her by shaking her shoulder. It’s time.

Cashmere leans over and kisses Gloss on the cheek. “I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you too.”

She leaves without looking back.

**oOo**


	20. When It's Springtime In Alaska (It's Forty Below)

**oOo**

As she prepares for the launch, Cashmere finds herself sinking back into that mindset she’d thought she’d left behind. She keeps her mind on the goal: get herself, Johanna, and the two from Twelve as far south as possible so they can be picked up by District Thirteen. Look for the giant green statue of a person and get close to the water. Try to avoid killing, but kill if she has to.

Cashmere’s gotten the measure of the other tributes over the last few days, and almost every single one of them is at least a little in awe of her. The only exception is -- unsurprisingly -- Johanna, who’s her usual self. That won’t stop them from killing her. But it might make them hesitate in a way they wouldn’t with anyone else. And she and Johanna have been in this situation before. They know what to expect.

Plus, everything is biased in her favor. Sure, there’s not a lot the Gamemakers can do without the appearance of impropriety, but when Cashmere’s cylinder rises and she’s finally above-ground again, she realizes she’s been placed in the perfect position: she’s directly in front of the mouth of the Cornucopia, where she doesn’t need any curves or even to turn herself to get there in one straight shot. It’s the spot every district wants. Johanna’s seven people to her right, with Primrose two past her. Bing is five people to her left. There’s a bundle of throwing knives, a large one, straight ahead of her -- her preferred weapon in the best spot. She takes all of this in in an instant. The Games are about to start.

The instant the countdown finishes and the gong rings out, she’s sprinting for the Cornucopia, going straight for the throwing knives sitting in the open mouth. There’s an axe next to the bundle, which she tosses to Johanna, and then she climbs on top of the Cornucopia and guards it from everyone but her alliance. She’s not aiming to kill when she has a choice, but sometimes she doesn’t. She has to keep the kids alive.

It’s a whirlwind of people trying to reach her. Trying to take her down. She stops them all. The girl from Two dies trying to climb the Cornucopia, Cashmere’s knife in her throat. The boy from Seven loses it and tries to stab her with a spear he picks up. She kills him too. She has the position of power, and she has to keep it.

The girl from Ten goes after Primrose instead of her; Cashmere fends her off with a knife to the shoulder. She runs away into the woods surrounding them.

She’s glad to see Primrose and Bing trusting her to defend them instead of kill them as they sort through the supplies. Johanna alternates between helping them sort and helping her hold the others off.

A few people do manage to grab the farther-out supplies, but everyone else is in a bit of a bind -- all five of the other Careers have a non-Career to protect. So does Cashmere, of course, but she got there first, and with a distance weapon too. She throws another knife at a face peeking out from behind a tree and hits it full on. The girl from Nine dies choking.

When she has the chance between holding the other tributes off, she takes a look around. They’re in a wooded area near a lake between old crumbling buildings. This must be a former city of North America. South, Mags said. Judging by the direction of the sun, south is straight through some of the buildings. They’ll have to pick southeast or southwest. 

“Does anyone want a bow?” Primrose shouts. When everyone answers negatively, she methodically breaks the bow and all the arrows. Smart. Definitely get rid of the distance weapons you can’t use. Cashmere can technically use a bow, but it was never her best weapon. Certainly not worth toting around.

The rest of the tributes are mostly gone now, but Cashmere stays on top of the Cornucopia, slowly checking in every direction. It wouldn’t do for them to die now.

“What should we do with the metal weapons?” Bing calls.

“Save what we want and dump the rest in the lake!” Johanna yells back from where she’s going through the food. Again, a good plan. They won’t be gone, but they might be ruined, and they’ll definitely be hard to get. “And I’m calling dibs on all the axes!”

“I’ll take any knives and a sword!” Cashmere puts in. Then she spots someone trying to come at them through the lake and fends them off with a series of thrown knives. It must be one of the tributes from Four. Whoever it is swims out of her range and back in the direction they came from.

It doesn’t take long to finish going through the stuff, and when they’re done and everyone else is either dead or chased away, all four of them have packs full -- but not too full -- of necessary supplies. They don’t want to weigh themselves down too much. 

Cashmere has had to kill three kids already this Games. She hopes she doesn’t have to kill any more.

_ Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle. Livia. Beech. Clementine. _

Primrose found more throwing knives in the supplies at the Cornucopia, along with a variety of other knives, which Cashmere accepts happily. When everyone looks at her oddly, she shrugs and says, “I’ve loved knives since I was five.”

Bing hands her a sword. He’s strapped a sword of his own around his waist, and he also has a spear and two knives. Johanna has six axes shoved into her pack, at least two of which are small enough to throw, and four knives of her own. Primrose has the fewest weapons. She’s only carrying a single knife and a spear, and it looks like she plans to use the spear more as a walking stick than as a weapon. It’s still good for her to have a distance weapon, though. And it looks like she filled her pack with most of the medical supplies along with some of the food. Useful.

“Where should we go?” Primrose asks. “Should we stay here?”

Cashmere shakes her head. “Definitely not.”

“Everyone’s gonna think we’re gonna hang out by the Cornucopia,” Johanna explains as they walk. “Let ‘em. The place is too exposed and there’s not enough supplies there to make it worth our while. We’re better off holing up and letting people kill each other off.”

“Okay, but where do we go, then?” Bing asks.

Johanna looks around as though considering. “That way,” she says, pointing slightly southeast, and begins walking. Primrose and Bing look at each other and shrug, then follow Johanna. Cashmere takes rearguard, watching for threats from behind.

They can’t walk straight in the direction they want to go -- the old avenues seem to be in a grid pointing south-southwest and east-southeast, judging by the sun -- and honestly that’s not a great idea anyway. Instead, they alternate, but not in any specific pattern. Sometimes they intentionally backtrack.

Cashmere and Johanna alternate on who takes the lead and who follows at the back, protecting the kids all the while.

They even get to know them a bit. “Call me Prim,” Primrose says. “All my friends call me Prim.”

Cashmere smiles at her. “You can call me Cashmere or Cash. Not all my friends call me Cash, but some do.”

“I prefer Dubois!” Johanna yells from ahead.

“Fuck off, Mason!”   


“Up yours!”

Prim looks a bit scandalized, but Bing laughs. 

She  _ likes _ these kids. Bing is a bit like Gloss, a bit like Caesar, and a bit like Peeta. Prim still reminds her of Katniss, Peeta, and Rue. She’s innocent in a way Cashmere can’t remember being, even before she volunteered. Prim’s never killed, never even considered killing. The more time they spend talking, the more Prim reminds her of Brilliance at that age. She hopes her baby sister is doing okay.

“Why are you being so nice to us?” Bing asks her as the sky starts to darken.

She considers how to answer. Truth, lie? At this point, it might as well be the truth; if she’s killed anyone with her actions, they’re probably already dead. She’s kind of glad she doesn’t know if it’s happened, though, because it means she can pretend they’re all still alive and her actions will have no consequences.

She has so much anger at the Capitol -- for the Games, for the rapes, for the torture -- and she lets it show. “Because I’m sick of being a piece in the Capitol’s Games. I know who the real enemy is, and it’s not you kids.” 

He looks at her assessingly before exchanging a glance with Prim. They’ve clearly spent enough time together that they can communicate without words -- and it seems they’ve decided to trust her.

**oOo**

The first night, they stop when they hear the anthem and look up at the sky to see who’s still alive.

Cashmere killed three people at the Cornucopia, but they’re not the only faces in the sky. Seven people are dead. Not many as bloodbaths go, but more than she’d hoped for.

Prim touches the three middle fingers of her left hand to her lips then holds them up to the sky once all the images are gone. Bing immediately follows her example. Cashmere vaguely recognizes it from Katniss’s funeral for the girl from Eleven last year. She imitates the gesture, as does Johanna. It clearly means something to the kids from Twelve.

As Cashmere stares at the sky, she wonders if anyone is dead because of what she’s doing. Whose faces aren’t shown in the Arena sky? Gloss? Caesar? Her parents or siblings? Other Victors? She sends a silent hope that everyone is alive.

There’s one person she can check on. Carefully, she lifts her sleeve just enough to see her words. They’re still turquoise; Caesar is still alive. She has no idea what state he’s in, but he’s alive.

“What are you doing?” Bing asks.

“Checking if my soulmate’s alive.”

“You never said who it was.”

“I keep that quiet for a reason.” She sighs and lets her sleeve fall back into place. “Don’t believe what you see on TV. Life as a Victor has a lot less choice than most people think.”

“Katniss and Peeta seem to be doing okay?” Prim half-says, half-asks.

Cashmere and Johanna exchange a glance. “I’ll take first watch,” Johanna says before stalking off.

“I’ll take second!” Cashmere calls after her, getting a thumbs up in reply.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bing asks. They didn’t bring a tent -- too heavy and too easy to get trapped in -- so he starts setting up rubble to block their sleeping bags from the street.

Cashmere sighs again. “Katniss and Peeta are doing so okay that the Quell was set up very specifically so they’d be Reaped and I’d be a good little Capitol soldier and kill them. You refused to play that game, and so did I, but someone is probably paying for it right now.” She doesn’t tell them their families are probably dead. Not Katniss and Peeta, they’re too visible. But their parents and Bing’s other brother. Or any friends they might have. Or Twelve as a whole. She’s not sure how they’ll react, so it’s better not to let them freeze up; that could mean all their deaths. “As for Johanna… she did the same thing your siblings did. Married her soulmate and told the Capitol to fuck off.”

“And then her soulmate died in a lumber accident, Haymitch said.”

Raising an eyebrow, Cashmere looks at them. “That’s the story, yes.” She’s not going to say it’s a lie, but implying it is enough. “Come on, let’s rest. We need to travel more in the morning, and I need to be sharp for my watch.”

**oOo**

When they hit the water, they’re too far north. Cashmere can’t see any sign of a giant green statue of a person, and from the way Johanna’s looking around, neither can she. It takes some convincing, but Prim and Bing eventually go south with them.

There’s faces in the sky that night, and Cashmere can’t help but mourn. She hoped that by getting rid of all the weapons no one would be able to kill each other, but… this is the Hunger Games. There are so many ways to die, and there’s always sponsor gifts. There also have to be Gamemaker traps throughout the Arena; they’ve run into a couple, but not many. Whichever Gamemaker is working with the rebellion -- and there has to be at least one for Mags to arrange the pickup -- must have made sure their route would be relatively safe.

In fact, their worst injury is a long scrape Johanna gets when she steps wrong on a piece of rubble and goes sliding down a hill. Cashmere is decent at first aid, but Prim is even better even though she’s only thirteen. The girl doesn’t hesitate in checking and cleaning Johanna’s wound. She uses the supplies they have to close it and keep it as sanitized as possible.

Hilariously, Bing can’t watch. The sight of blood seems to bother him.

Johanna grins. “Don’t tell me my legs are scaring you away.”

“No, your legs are fine,” he says with a deep swallow. He looks away again.

“Aw, come on!” She wiggles her toes and poses them pseudo-sexily. 

Prim lightly smacks her toes. “Stop moving and let me work.”

Cashmere does feel a little bad for Bing, because if this were a regular Games, he’d be dead. He seems to realize that, though, and he keeps trying to force himself to get used to it. 

Johanna, on the other hand, is completely unbothered. “What?” she asks when Bing looks at her again, seeming boggled by her coolness. “I see worse in Seven all the time.” 

“You want to survive the Games?” Cashmere says as sympathetically as she can manage. “You can’t get upset by a little blood. Honestly, I’ve had worse in the Capitol.”

Prim and Bing stare at her in unison. “How’d you get injured in the Capitol?” Bing asks.

...Yeah, no, she’s not telling a thirteen-year-old about the time a client used a bullwhip on her so badly she ended up in the hospital for two days. If everything works out, they’ll never have to know. And if everything doesn’t work out, they’ll probably be dead. Instead she shrugs. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” There. That might play well to the audience, assuming they’re being filmed right now.

Once Prim is done, Johanna stands up and tests her leg. “You do good work, Everdeen.”

Prim frowns. “You shouldn’t be moving on that.”

Johanna cackles. “This is the Hunger Games, kid. If you don’t move, you die. Cash is right; I’ve had worse in the Capitol. Come on. Let’s get moving.”

**oOo**

On the third day, they finally reach their goal -- what might have once been a park all the way at the southern tip of whatever land they’re on, surrounded by water on three sides.

“Is that it?” Johanna asks.

Cashmere shades her eyes and looks into the distance. She can just make out something that might be a giant green statue of a person. It’s giant and greenish, anyway. “Looks about right.” They’ve made it this far, even if they’re not certain exactly when the hovercraft will arrive.

“Great. Let’s find a place to hole up.”

“Is what it?” Bing demands.

Johanna smirks. “You’ll find out, bread boy. You’ll find out.”

That night, there are yet more faces in the sky. The soulmates are mostly dying in pairs, but some of the individuals are dead too. Cashmere wishes they’d been able to save them all. But the rebellion is more important than any individual, even kids dumped into the horror that is an Arena. Her job is to get Prim and Bing out, and if she can, her and Johanna. That’s it.

They all do Twelve’s salute again, and Cashmere checks her soulmark. Still turquoise. Caesar is still alive. She wishes she had something similar she could check for Gloss.

Now they just have to last until the hovercraft comes.

Luckily it doesn’t take long. Early the next morning, while Cashmere’s on watch, the hovercraft approaches. It looks somewhat similar to a Capitol hovercraft but also… not quite. It has to be District Thirteen.

“Finally,” Johanna snaps as she starts packing up their supplies. “I was wondering if they’d forgotten about us.”

“If who had forgotten about us?” Bing demands as he scrambles out of his sleeping bag. “Damn it, stop keeping secrets! Just what the fuck’s going on here?”

Johanna smirks. “Why? Don’t you know a rescue when you see one?”

“A rescue? From who?”

“District Thirteen,” Cashmere says without blinking.

“What?” Bing and Prim exchange a glance. “But Thirteen’s destroyed.”

She points at the hovercraft. “Tell that to them.”

“So, pipsqueak,” Johanna snarks, “do you want to start a revolution?”

**oOo**


	21. No One Is Alone

**oOo**

The instant the hovercraft lands in District Thirteen, Cashmere practically flies into Gloss’s arms. He got out. He’s here.

He’s grieving.

She doesn’t want to ask, but she has to know. “Who?”

His arms tighten around her. “Polish and Angora.”

With a hard swallow, she finishes the question, “Their families?”

He shakes his head.

Four adults and seven children, gone in the blink of an eye. Eleven more people who have died because of her. Eleven more names added to her tally. _Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle. Livia. Beech. Clementine._

She doesn’t add them to her litany; she didn’t directly kill them. But these eleven deaths are still her fault. Including Angora, who was so terrified of her nightmares of Cashmere killing her after her first Games. Cashmere didn’t put a knife to her throat, but she’s the reason Angora is dead. “The others?” she finally asks.

“Kona got the families out of Victor’s Village. They’re somewhere in the wilds now, but we don’t have contact with them. The Victors… some of us got out.”

“But not all.”

He shakes his head again. “Sparkle and I are the only ones here from One. We have Lyme, Beetee, Wiress, Mags, Finnick, Cecelia, Barlie, Haymitch, Katniss, and Peeta. Shiny, Oceana, Blight, and Woof are dead. Everyone else is still in the Capitol as far as I’m aware.”

Cashmere has to close her eyes. Shiny, her mentor twice over, is dead. Friends of hers -- Onyx, Truffle, Silverbelle, Lacy, Enobaria, Lumen, even Annie -- are probably hostages. What’s left of her family is who knows where. And there’s one more person she needs to ask about. “Caesar?”

Gloss half-shrugs. “I don’t know.” His hand brushes her soulmark in an implied question.

“He wasn’t dead last night.” She lets Gloss roll up her sleeve to reveal the still-turquoise letters. Caesar’s still alive. Where and in what condition, she doesn’t know. But he’s alive.

There’s a sob; Prim is crying in a very pregnant Katniss’s arms.

“Who?” Cashmere asks.

Gloss sighs. “Their mother.”

Cashmere disentangles herself from Gloss and goes over to her ally. She doesn’t know Katniss all that well; usually they’d have met after the 74th Games or on the Victory Tour or in the Capitol, but Snow separated Twelve from everyone and then Cashmere was a tribute instead of a mentor. But she does know Prim. Three days together in the Games tells you a lot about someone.

“Hey,” she says.

Prim sniffles and tries to smile at her. It fails miserably. “Hi.”

“You’ll get through it, Prim. You’ve got your sister, and me, and Johanna, and that soulmate of yours.”

Prim nods and shoots a glance at Bing, who’s talking quietly to Peeta with somber expressions on their faces. Cashmere wonders which of their family members is dead; she has no doubt at least one is.

Prim looks at her again. “We made the right choice, right?”

“We did,” Cashmere says firmly, as much to convince herself as Prim. “A revolution’s necessary. The Capitol’s been cruel to the districts for too long. The Hunger Games should have ended a long time ago.”

Katniss tilts her head as she looks at Cashmere. “I thought everyone from One liked the Capitol.”

Cashmere’s answering smile drips with bitterness. “I did until I went to the Games. The first time. Killing changes you. The aftermath… it changes you more.” At some point both Katniss and Prim will find out about the prostitution. About what Cashmere had to do with Gloss. She’s not ready for that time to be now. “And now there’s this. I was placed in the Quell intentionally to kill you and Peeta. I survived a fucking Hunger Games, and they made me go through it again. And now two of my siblings and their families and my mentor are dead because I didn’t do what they wanted. There’s a few good people in the Capitol--” her mind flits to Caesar “--but the city can go rot in hell for all I care.”

Katniss is looking at her with new respect in her eyes. “I wish Peeta and I had gotten to meet the other Victors before this week.”

“Usually Victors do, on the Victory Tour or in the Capitol after. Snow kept you two isolated.” Cashmere sighs. “I’d have gone nuts without the other Victors.” She feels Gloss come up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Just… take everything you saw on TV with a grain of salt. We all do what we have to do to keep our families safe.”

There’s an assessing look before Katniss nods.

Prim comes over to Cashmere and hesitantly holds out her arms. She’s a kid; of course Cashmere hugs her and lets her cry into her shoulder. “I’m here. If you need anything, Prim, I’m here.”

**oOo**

District Thirteen is surprisingly similar to the Tribute Training Center -- but even more regimented. Still, Cashmere did well there, and she does well here. There’s no presentation lessons, but she’s still good at both combat and survival.

As Victors and former tributes -- no one is quite sure what to call Prim and Bing since they didn’t technically win the Hunger Games, but they did survive, and that counts for something -- their group doesn’t join the regular soldiers. They all have other roles.

Mags and Sparkle work in intelligence, Beetee and Wiress in tech. Cecelia worries about her children, Finnick worries about Annie, and Gloss worries about Lacy. Haymitch is in the hospital because he’s having trouble detoxing, while Katniss is in the hospital because she needs to be on bedrest for the last month of her pregnancy. Barlie and Prim train as medics, Lyme trains as a military leader, and Johanna trains as an assassin. Peeta and Bing make speeches which Beetee sneaks onto the airwaves. Cashmere watches Capitol broadcasts for hidden meanings, though she has to get someone else to help if there’s too much text on the screen; it still swims and bounces until she can’t understand it.

Watching is the only time she can see her soulmate, and even that’s rare. He does a final post-Games interview with Volt from Five, the supposed Victor of the 75th Hunger Games. Cashmere wonders what happened to the other four tributes who were still alive when the hovercraft came. She’s pretty sure the Capitol killed them and picked Volt to ‘win.’

Caesar has to know she’s still alive -- his soulmark won’t have changed to gray -- but he doesn’t say anything, just pretends Volt is in fact the Victor. It’s probably for the best, for his own safety at least.

But after that, Caesar disappears from the television. Cashmere watches every broadcast, hoping to see her soulmate, but he isn’t there. She wonders if he was taken for questioning. He doesn’t know anything, but does Snow know that? Every night, she checks her soulmark. It’s still there and still turquoise. He’s alive, but where?

The war -- and it is a war -- swiftly turns into a long hard slog. The bombing of District Twelve is the first salvo. An entire district gone because they wouldn’t play the Capitol’s games.

There’s retaliations and more retaliations, battles and more battles.

Snow drags out the Victors to try to convince the districts to end this war; they’re more popular than he is, especially in the districts. Thirteen retaliates with an exposé of what life is really like for Victors. What life is really like in the Capitol.

All of them speak, from Mags down to Prim. About the Games. About what happens if you don’t do what the Capitol wants. About what happens if you _do_.

Afterward, Katniss asks Cashmere to come by her and Peeta’s quarters. She’s nursing her son, a little boy named Gale after a friend who died in the bombing of Twelve. A spike of jealousy tears through Cashmere. She loves kids; she’s wanted them for a long time. She’s never had the opportunity.

“I never realized,” Katniss says as she moves the baby to her other breast.

Cashmere doesn’t try to pretend she doesn't know what Katniss means. “Few people do.” She shakes her head. “When I got home after my Victory Tour, my mother pretty much accused me of having a degenerate lifestyle. I lied, of course. Telling her the truth could have ended in my entire family dying, and I wasn’t willing to do that.” She sighs. “Gloss and I have remained popular longer than most, unfortunately.”

Katniss shudders. “I can’t imagine -- with Prim…”

“It wouldn’t have been Prim for you.” At Katniss’s questioning glance, she clarifies, “It would’ve been Peeta. The Capitol liked you two as the Star Crossed Lovers, so while you both would have been sold -- often to people who wanted to fuck you one after the other -- it mostly would have been the two of you having sex for an audience. Sometimes with direction.”

Katniss’s jaw drops. “What…”

Cashmere smiles wryly. “Spend enough time in the Capitol and you learn how they think, even if you don’t want to.”

“You said there’s good people in the Capitol, though.”

“A few. Not many.” Even though her uniform has sleeves down to her wrists, she automatically puts her hand over her soulmark. “Most of them are more oblivious than evil.”

The baby pulls off from Katniss’s breast with a sigh, and she lifts him to her shoulder to burp him. “Like Effie or my prep team.”

Cashmere nods. “Exactly.” She can’t help staring at the baby. He’s adorable and so tiny. She never really spent time with her siblings at that age; she was in the Tribute Training Center when they were that little.

Katniss must see her look, because after the baby is finished burping, she hands him to Cashmere. “Here. Hold him while I clean up.”

Cashmere’s rarely held babies. Most of her experience is with older kids. But this is -- this is good. Little Gale yawns and shoves a hand into his tiny little mouth. He looks so shocked afterward. Cashmere can’t help but melt.

“You don’t have kids, do you?”

Cashmere shakes her head but doesn’t take her eyes off the baby. “I’ve never had the option. Victors don’t get to have kids until we’re no longer for sale. Just as well that I’ve been on Capitol-mandated birth control since I was thirteen; I would have hated getting pregnant by someone who bought me. Or worse, Gloss.”

Katniss shudders. “You could, here. Thirteen was so pleased I was pregnant. Prim thinks they have a population issue.”

Once again, her hand goes to her soulmark. “I’d rather not. Not with anyone here, at least.”

“Your soulmate?”

What can it hurt now? It’s an open secret among the Victors -- Mags, Sparkle, Finnick, Johanna, and Gloss definitely know, and she wouldn’t be surprised at the others. Carefully, she unbuttons her top and pulls her arm out, making sure not to upset the baby in the process.

Katniss reads the words. “Caesar Flickerman?” she asks after a moment. Cashmere nods. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed his favorite color’s white.”

Wait. What?

Cashmere stares at her arm. Katniss is right; the words are white. In all of Cashmere’s life, her words have changed color on a schedule: approximately a month before the Hunger Games, they turn whatever color Caesar’s chosen as his theme that year. But it’s November, not May, and they’re _white_.

“That’s… odd. They’re not supposed to be white.” If they were gray she’d be worried, but white is okay, right? It has to be.

“What color are they supposed to be?”

Cashmere hands the baby back to Katniss and pulls her shirt back into place. “Turquoise for now. Something else come May.” At Katniss’s confused look, she says, “They change every year. Whatever color he’s picked for his theme. Turquoise this year, powder blue last, crimson the year before that. They’ve never been white.” Her lips tighten. “I think I need to go tell Mags about this. It could be important.”

Katniss nods. “Go.”

  
**oOo**


	22. Seven Nation Army

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for "Major Character Death" are definitely in play by this point.

**oOo**

Even if Cashmere’s words turning white means something, no one knows what that is or how to make use of that information. Especially since Caesar never returns to the airwaves. He’s not dead. But he is disappeared.

Instead, the revolution goes on.

And on.

And on.

District Thirteen and its allies slowly take ground, inch by painful inch. First District Six is won, then District Nine and District Eleven. District Eight was already rebelling, so they join quickly. District Twelve is gone, but they find a small band of survivors who join Thirteen’s army. District Four takes longer, but they manage eventually, and then it’s on to District Ten. Districts Seven, Three, and Five begin their own rebellion, and eventually they meet in the middle -- at what will be the toughest section to take: Districts One and Two, which surround the Capitol.

Two and a half years into the war, District One surrenders surprisingly gracefully, led by Sparkle’s husband Kona, Truffle, and Lacy, who must have returned there sometime in the past two years. Onyx and Silverbelle aren’t there; Cashmere doesn’t ask.

Truffle volunteers the information anyway. “I had to kill Onyx myself,” he tells her late that night over a bottle of good District One coffee liqueur, the type that they were never allowed to keep for themselves because it belonged to the Capitol. Sparkle and Gloss are both busy reuniting with their lovers, so it’s just the two of them. “He was loyal to the Capitol.”

Cashmere nods. “To Onyx,” she toasts. He may have been loyal to the Capitol, but he was still one of them.

Truffle taps her glass with his. “To Onyx.”

This time she asks, now that Truffle’s opened the conversation. “What about Silverbelle?” The rest of One’s Victors are accounted for, either dead or here.

“Still in the Capitol. There’s at least one Victor there from each district that still has Victors.”

“Hostages.”

Truffle nods. “Exactly.”

“Tell me about the others?”

From him, she learns that District Two is split. Lyme is commanding the military which is trying to take the district, and Two’s got people going for both sides, including their Victors.

So many of the other Victors are dead or permanently injured. Barlie died taking Four, while Lumen was killed by Snow. Mags finally died in her sleep a few months ago, and Cecelia stayed in Eight with her kids -- her husband is dead and she lost a leg, so she was no longer useful to Thirteen.

According to Truffle, Annie’s one of the hostages still in the Capitol, which she knows Finnick can’t be handling well at all.

“What about the families?” she asks. “Gloss told me Kona got at least some of them out, but…” She really wants to know about her family, but she’s not going to object to knowledge about the rest.

Truffle makes a so-so motion with his hand. “Your parents are dead. Your father had a heart attack soon after the escape, from what Kona tells me. Your mother died when they had to fight some of the Capitol’s forces.”

Cashmere isn’t sad to hear about her parents. They were barely her parents anyway. She makes a mental note to support Gloss if he needs to mourn, though.

“I’m sure you heard about Polish and Angora?” At Cashmere’s nod, he goes on, “As for your other sisters, Brilliance found her soulmate -- did you know there are people who live in the wilderness outside Panem? She’s living with her soulmate’s tribe far to the south, as are Silk and Crystal. Radiance is living in Gloss’s house and acting as Kona’s assistant.”

Cashmere feels her heart unclench. She cares much more about her siblings than her parents. To know three of them survived is invigorating. Sure, she can’t see Brilliance or Silk now if they’re far to the south, but she’ll see them eventually, and they’re far out of the Capitol’s reach. And she can see Radiance in the morning.

Truffle tells her about the rest of the Victors’ families. Some are alive, some are dead, some are permanently injured. It’s a mixed bag, just like the rest of Panem. 

Cashmere’s soulmark hasn’t changed color in two and a half years. She hasn’t seen Caesar since before the Third Quarter Quell. She has some of her family back, but she’s missing her soulmate.

They have One, they just need Two and the Capitol -- and Cashmere is ready to go find her soulmate.

**oOo**

It’s a long hard slog.

In the end, it takes Haymitch sacrificing himself, using one of Beetee’s bombs and his own moonshine, to take down District Two. Half of Two’s Victors go with him -- and in death, no one can tell that Lyme supported the rebellion while Brutus supported the Capitol.

Snow kills all of his hostages in retaliation.

Finnick is taller and broader than she is now, so different from the teen he was, but he still curls himself into a tiny ball and sobs on Cashmere’s shoulder when he hears of Annie’s death. 

“I’m here,” she says as she gives him what little comfort she can. She can’t bring in anyone from Four to help him this time, but they’re not alone; as many of the Victors are there as can be. 

Prim Everdeen, almost sixteen and a full-fledged medic, holds up a bottle of sleep syrup and gestures toward Finnick.

Cashmere shakes her head. Maybe later.

Prim nods.

Cashmere looks at the group. When the hell did she become the one in charge? And yet somehow, she’s the senior Victor of those actively fighting. Her, Gloss, Finnick, Johanna, Lacy, Katniss, Peeta, Prim, and Bing. Beetee and Wiress are still working on tech, Sparkle’s still in intelligence, and everyone else is either dead or back in their own districts working on the rebuilding, like Truffle and Seeder. She’s thirty-three years old and she feels like she’s eighty.

“We’re going to kill that fucking monster,” Johanna says. “We’re taking that asshole down.” That’s Johanna: using violence to comfort.

It works better than Cashmere would have expected.

Finnick slowly unfolds himself until he’s just leaning on Cashmere’s shoulder rather than completely huddled into her. He nods to Johanna. “Yeah. Yeah we damn well are.”

**oOo**

Now that Two’s down, they head for the Capitol. It’s still not easy, but inch by inch, the rebels take over.

Finally there’s just what seems like an impenetrable fortress between them and President Snow.

“This is what I trained for,” Johanna argues with their division leader, a man named Boggs, twenty days into the siege. “I’m a fucking assassin. Let me go assassinate.”

“My orders are to keep bombarding the presidential mansion.”

“What, and you’ve never disobeyed orders?”

He looks at her like she’s nuts.

Cashmere sighs. “What Johanna’s trying to say is it clearly isn’t working, so just doing the same thing over and over again isn’t going to suddenly work better on the fiftieth try.”

Johanna raises an eyebrow; that’s very much not what she said. 

But it’s something that might actually get through to these District Thirteen soldiers. None of them have any imagination. Cashmere hates the decadence of the Capitol, but in her opinion Thirteen goes much too far in the opposite direction.

Boggs nods slowly. “Let me talk to my commander.” He heads into his tent to make a private call.

Now’s as good a time as any for Cashmere’s daily check. She unbuttons her uniform enough to look at her shoulder. The words are still there. Still white. Caesar isn’t dead, though she has no idea where he is or what condition he’s in. She misses the days it was pink or blue or yellow -- colors she loved. Even colors she hated, like orange or puce or that crimson which looked far too much like blood. Those colors were _Caesar_. This constant white, this lack of color, just feels wrong.

Johanna’s checking her gun, something she does at least once a day. All the Victors use Thirteen’s guns, but none of them trust them, not entirely. They all keep other weapons shoved anywhere they can fit -- swords, axes, spears. Knives. Every single one of them carries at least three knives, even Prim, who’s primarily a medic. Finnick has a trident, Katniss her bow. Every single one of them is loaded for bear. 

Boggs returns half an hour later. He nods to Johanna. “Soldier Mason, you have a go.”

She yells with glee and rushes off for her pack.

Cashmere smiles after her. It’s nice to see someone enjoying themselves. She honestly mostly just wants this war to be over. It would be nice to be able to go home, live in peace -- have some of what’s been denied to her.

She hopes Johanna takes Snow out soon.

**oOo**

Johanna does take Snow out only a couple of days later.

Unfortunately, a sniper takes her out soon after. No one is certain how Snow still had a sniper left, but that’s one more Victor down.

Cashmere’s just glad her friend got the chance to kill her tormentor first. Johanna represents all of them now: a martyr for the cause, but one who got what she most wanted before she died.

The tyrant is dead, and Panem rejoices.

The glee lasts approximately one month.

**oOo**


	23. Love Song For No One

**oOo**

It doesn’t take long to realize that Alma Coin is just as bad as Coriolanus Snow, only in the opposite direction.

Instead of decadence and starvation, she forces a unifying sameness on everyone, from former citizens of the Capitol to the remnants of District Twelve. She demands loyalty, and the consequences for not giving it are severe.

Brilliance’s soulmate’s tribe comes up when things seem to be better, but once Coin shows her true colors, they melt back into the outskirts of One. Brilliance, Silk, and Crystal all go with them. “We’ll stop by,” Silk says before they leave, “but we’re not willing to live like this. We’d rather be free.”

Cashmere can’t blame them, but she’s also not entirely sure she can give up the conveniences of her house in Victor’s Village -- or, more importantly, the few friends she has.

She finally finds out that Caesar’s been in a Capitol prison for almost three years, placed there by President Snow, and she uses up every favor she’s earned by being a loyal Thirteen soldier to keep him there after Thirteen takes it over -- it’s better than the other choice, which is execution. She hates that he’s still there, but she doesn’t want him to die.

Too many people are executed, Capitolites especially. Within a year the Capitol is decimated; within two there’s almost no one left.

Including children.

Kids under five are spared, split up and sent out to the districts, with the lion’s share going to Thirteen. Older kids, teens, adults… all are executed.

“What can we do?” Gloss asks when the two of them go off to discuss it. They’re too used to heading on random hikes when they want to keep secrets; they’ve automatically done the same now. “We’re already under suspicion as Capitol sympathizers.” His laugh is harsh. “If only they knew how little we sympathize with the fucking Capitol.”

Cashmere nods. She hasn’t sympathized with the Capitol since she was eighteen. “I just wish there was something we could do.”

He shakes his head. “Lacy’s just glad the appointments are over, and honestly, so am I. We’d like some peace. And maybe a kid or two.” His smile is wistful. But Lacy’s only twenty-six while Gloss is thirty-six -- they have a chance. One that’s slipping away from Cashmere every day Caesar is stuck in that prison.

“Yeah, but those people don’t deserve to die,” Cashmere points out. “The ones who bought us, the ones with power, they deserve everything they get. But not the underlings. Not the oblivious ones. And not the children.”

“You’re not wrong, Cash. But I’m not willing to stick my neck out for any of them either. Now c’mon, let’s head back.”

**oOo**

Part of Cashmere wishes she had the guts to go against President Coin, but the truth is, she’s a practical person. One former Victor won’t have much pull. She’ll probably save no one and just end up executed herself.

Instead she does what she can: she adopts a family of three kids, aged five, three, and one, refugees of the Capitol. The oldest, a boy, is old enough to be executed under Coin’s laws. Cashmere manages to get him written down as four and therefore young enough to be adopted, and then she takes them all home to One. She can’t save everyone; she doesn’t even have it within her to try. But she can save these three.

Vulcan and Venus are hesitant around her at first, traumatized that their parents have disappeared even if they don’t fully understand why. Their baby sister Vesta cries unless she’s held all the time. Cashmere’s just glad she’s old enough to eat regular food. Sure, formula’s available places other than the Capitol now, but that doesn’t make it easy to find or buy.

Cashmere sets the older kids up in the bedroom next door -- the room that used to be Gloss’s before he moved in with Lacy -- and keeps Vesta with her, at least for now. One day, all three of the kids will have their own rooms if they want them.

All adoptive parents are encouraged by their new president to change the kids’ names to something less Capitol, but Cashmere isn’t willing to go that far. Vulcan and Venus know their names, and even Vesta responds to hers. Why should she take that from them? Instead, since they don’t remember their last name and the Thirteen people managing the adoptions refused to tell her, she gives them new middle and last names, ending up with Vulcan Silver Dubois, Venus Johanna Dubois, and Vesta Angora Dubois. They can always go by their middle names if they want to, and this lets her honor some of those she’s lost.

Raising kids is _exhausting_ , and for the first time in her life, Cashmere respects her parents. How did they manage with seven? Admittedly, they sent her away, but that was still six kids in the house at once, ranging from fourteen-year-old Gloss down to just-born Brilliance. Of course, it probably doesn’t help that these kids are traumatized.

She says as much on the phone to Finnick one day. He’s back in Four now that the war is over, but he called to see how she was doing. “I just don’t know how they managed.”

“Well, there were two of them,” he points out. “And I’m sure Gloss was helpful, especially once he was older.”

“Hm. Maybe.” Vesta’s crying again, so Cashmere checks her diaper. It’s dry. She just finished eating and pushed away the last bit of the cereal, so she can’t be hungry, and she’s not sick. She woke up from a nap less than an hour ago, so that’s unlikely. Maybe she just wants to be held? Cashmere cuddles the baby. “Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”

“It sounds like what you need is some help.”

“Are you offering?” comes out without her meaning to say it.

“...Maybe?”

“Finnick?” She lets her voice grow concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really. Mags is gone, Oceana’s gone, Annie’s--” He tries to cover up a sob. “Catamaran and Gulf died in the fighting, and Ray’s been dead for years. So it’s just me and Tetra, and, well…”

If Cashmere remembers correctly, Tetra won the 28th Games, which means she’s in her 60s at least. “You were never close?”

“Yeah. She has her own family.”

“What about your family?”

She can almost hear his shrug. “They never quite -- we weren’t close, after my Games. And especially after, well. Everything else.”

Cashmere understands perfectly. Killing changes you, and it changes how people see you. Whoring -- especially when you can’t reveal the truth -- changes you more, and the assumption that you’ve embraced the Capitol changes how people see you completely. She saw it in her parents’ faces. She’s not surprised it happened to Finnick. “Well, you’re welcome here. I have a few extra bedrooms, and I could use my little brother’s help with the kids.”

“I’m not your brother,” he grumbles half-jokingly.

“Yeah, well, you’re not my lover either. We’ll let the kids think of you as Uncle Finnick?”

“Yeah, okay. I can deal with that.”

**oOo**

Having Finnick around makes things easier -- a second adult, especially one Vulcan idolizes just a little bit, lets her spread her attention more evenly without feeling like she’s neglecting any of the kids. They quickly grow to love ‘Uncle Finnick,’ and they start opening up to Cashmere more.

She’s never demanded they call her Mom or Mother or Mama or any variation. Vulcan and Venus remember and miss their parents, so she told them to call her Cashmere or Cash.

So she’s surprised when Vulcan comes tearing in the door after school one day, waving his homework, and yells, “Look, Mom! I got an A!”

“That’s great, Vulcan!” she says even though part of her is desperately trying not to cry happy tears over being called Mom. She’s raising these kids, but she didn’t expect this.

He hands her the paper and points something out. “See?”

Cashmere mostly does, but reading is still hard -- and she’s pretty sure it’s always going to be hard, no matter what. Still, the bright red A is obvious, as is the “Good job!” the teacher scrawled on the paper. District One no longer has the Tribute Training Center, but even if they did, Cashmere wouldn’t send her kids there. She’d much rather watch them achieve in academics than in the prerequisites to murder. “Good job, Vulcan. I’m proud of you.”

The blush runs all the way down his neck. He shuffles his feet shyly. “You don’t mind? That I called you Mom?”

Her heart leaps again. “Not at all.”

“But... you said to call you Cashmere.”

“I thought you’d be most comfortable with that. I want you to call me whatever makes you happiest.”

“Venus doesn’t wanna call you Mom yet.”

“She doesn’t have to. That’s her choice.” Though admittedly Cashmere is pleased to hear the ‘yet’ in that sentence. Still, she’s not going to push.

“Sometimes I miss Mommy and Daddy.”

Cashmere wishes she had anything of their birth parents to share with them. She doesn’t know who their parents were or what crime they were accused of. She doesn’t even know their original last name. They’ve lost their heritage. “I know,” she says instead. “And that’s okay. Tell me about them?”

As Vulcan tells her half-remembered tales of a woman with pink skin and a man with blue tattoos, Cashmere makes sure to listen. She can’t be the parents they lost. But maybe she can be the mother they need.

**oOo**

The next year, Prim and Bing bring her news of Panem. While Katniss and Peeta went back to what’s left of Twelve and settled down with their son, Prim and Bing are busy traveling, setting up hospitals across Panem. Prim has the medical knowledge; Bing has the ability to convince people that what he wants is really what they wanted all along. They’ve brought with them a young man named Thom, one of the few survivors of the bombing of District Twelve. Apparently he’s helping with the rebuilding.

“We were in the old Capitol,” Bing tells her as Prim and Thom sit on the floor to teach Vulcan and Venus a game. It seems to involve a long piece of yarn tied in a loop which they pass back and forth in certain patterns, the kind of game kids in Twelve with few toys would have played when Prim was a child. It’s awkward for Prim to teach with only one arm -- she lost the other in the final fight for the Capitol -- but Venus seems willing to sit on her lap and be her second hand. “What’s left of it anyway.”

“Oh?”

“We stopped by the prison.”

She stiffens up. “How… how is he?” She doesn’t say Caesar’s name. Not here. Not now.

“He’s okay. He’s managing. It’s… quiet, from what he said. He spends most of his time alone, reading or thinking.” Bing tilts his head. “He mostly wanted to know how you are.”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth but… we didn’t have much to tell. Don’t forget, we hadn’t seen you since the end of the war. He knew you were alive, of course. We told him you were happy, as far as we knew, and living in District One.” His eyes sweep over his wife, their friend, and Cashmere’s kids. “We didn’t know you had kids.”

Finnick comes downstairs, then; he was putting Vesta in her crib for her nap. “She adopted the instant she could,” he says to Bing.

Bing looks at Venus sitting on his wife’s lap. “Capitol kids?”

“They don’t deserve to die just because of where they were born any more than anyone from the districts deserved to die in the Games.” Cashmere knows she sounds preachy, but she has strong feelings about this. No child ever deserves death.

_Plastic. Ian. Flower. Engine. Antonius. Shelle. Livia. Beech. Clementine._ She killed nine kids with her own hands. Her actions led to the deaths of far more. Saving three lives doesn’t make up for that, but it’s something.

He nods. “Prim wants a kid. I’m… uncomfortable, with the way the country is under our dear beloved president.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Finnick agrees. He sighs. “Sometimes I wish Annie and I had been able, but…”

It’s good he can say her name without breaking down in tears. Cashmere remembers those early days. She’s glad to see Finnick starting to heal, even if he never makes it back to entirely whole. She’s not sure any of them will ever be completely whole -- survivors that they are. They had to bend and break parts of themselves to fit into the shapes demanded of them, the roles they needed to fill. Regaining those pieces is hard. The kids help.

Cashmere stands up and smiles at the way the group on the floor immediately look at her. “Who wants to help me make dinner?”

“Me!” Vulcan yells as he drops the string and jumps up.

“I’ll set the table,” Venus says very seriously.

“It’s going to be a big group, so you’re going to have to get the full table set up.”

Venus nods. “Uncle Finnick, will you help?”

“Of course.”

She marches into the kitchen and starts gathering silverware.

Before he follows, Finnick stops by Cashmere. “Thirteen, right? You, me, Gloss, Lacy, Truffle, Sparkle, Kona, Bing, Prim, Thom, Vulcan, Venus, and Vesta. Plus Alençon.” Alençon is Gloss and Lacy’s newborn, and he won’t need a seat -- he’s much too little.

Cashmere gives a half-nod half-shrug. “Put out fourteen -- Radiance said she’ll come if she can.”

Finnick nods. “I’ll get out all the extensions then.”

Dinner that night starts with a bang -- luckily not a literal one.

Radiance comes tearing into the house seconds before they’re planning to sit down. “I’m sorry I’m late, I was stuck dealing with Mitchell from Thirteen all day! What a fu--” she catches herself “--freaking moron!” She looks at the crowd seated around the table. Her eyes stop on Thom. “Well, hello there, handsome. I was not expecting you.”

Thom’s jaw drops. “I wasn’t expecting you either, but… wow. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Radiance’s eyes go wide as her hand moves to her side -- where her soulmark is, Cashmere knows.

_Huh_. Of Cashmere and her six siblings, four have soulmarks, and of those four, only Silk found her soulmate in District One. Cashmere’s is from the Capitol, Radiance’s is from Twelve, and Brilliance’s is from a tribe outside Panem. Polish and Angora died without ever leaving One. Maybe this is why soulmarks have become more common in the younger age groups -- there’s now a chance to meet people from different districts. Maybe everyone should have had soulmates all along, but since they’d never had a chance to meet the words never appeared. She wonders if Gloss should have had a soulmate, if whoever should have been his soulmate died in another district or will never come to One. But he’s happy with Lacy, so she’s not sure it matters.

Finnick looks between Radiance and Thom, stands up, and moves to the empty seat between Lacy and Kona, leaving his seat next to Thom empty so Radiance can sit next to her soulmate.

Grinning, Gloss catches her eye. It’s nice to see their younger sister happy, even if she follows Thom to Twelve, which Cashmere has a feeling might happen. With Silk and Brilliance down in the wilds and Polish and Angora dead, they’ll be the only ones of their siblings left in One.

It’s hard to fathom. Cashmere always assumed she’d be the first to die, the one to leave all the others behind. Between her first Hunger Games and her second, it would have been likely.

But she’s not.

Instead, she’s here. Raising her kids, hoping one day her soulmate gets out of prison without heading straight for the firing squad. It has to be enough.

**oOo**


	24. It Takes Two

**oOo**

Five years into President Coin’s rule, she goes one step too far for even her loyal Thirteen underlings. General Boggs takes a sidearm into her office and empties it into her head. A more loyal soldier kills him mere moments later, but the deed is done.

She’s dead. Gone.

And Panem is _never ever_ going to live under another tyrant.

Cashmere throws herself into the fight, joined by the few remaining Victors. She’s not letting this happen again. None of them are. A call to Wiress -- Beetee finally passed last year -- and there’s a plan: one more propo, forced onto the airwaves over and over until everyone in Panem has seen it. A propo in favor of a new system, where the leader -- who will no longer be called a president -- will never again have absolute power. Instead each district will send representatives to a new Assembly, which will then vote amongst itself to choose a leader. They call the new position Prime Minister, after a phrase found only in ancient books, ones both Snow and Coin tried to suppress. No one will be able to be a representative for more than ten years in a row, and elections for new representatives will happen every five. The Prime Minister will have to be confirmed every year and can only hold the position for up to five years total over their entire life. They want to break the ability of anyone to amass anywhere near Snow or Coin’s level of power.

The plan succeeds. Panem gets a new form of rule.

Kona is elected as one of District One’s representatives. Cashmere is invited to run for office but chooses not to. No one has decided where the new Capitol -- or whatever they’re going to call it -- will be other than not Thirteen and not the old Capitol, and she needs stability for her kids. Vulcan and Venus are eight and six now and doing well in school, and Vesta is four and just starting school. She’s not about to move any of them, or herself, not now that they’re settled. She got a job teaching gym class at the local school; she always liked teaching, and it’s just as good now as it ever was.

Sure, the presentation lessons she used to teach at the Tribute Training Center aren’t necessary, and she’s definitely not going to teach kids to kill. But she can work with them on fitness and getting their energy out, and she also teaches a little bit of survival skills. Because even if there’s never another Hunger Games -- and there had better not be another Hunger Games -- survival skills will always have a practical purpose.

But there is one more thing she wants. Cashmere makes her case to Kona, and he agrees: everyone in the prisons needs to have their cases revisited, because both Snow and Coin put people there for reasons which are not legitimate. Kona brings it to the new Assembly, and a decision is made. Every case is reexamined. Murderers and rapists are kept locked up, but political prisoners and those who were kept for revenge or hostages are released.

Twenty-one years to the day after she first met him, Caesar arrives at her house.

His hair is snow white, and for the first time that she can remember, he looks his age. _He’s an old man_. The thought comes unbidden. He doesn’t have much time left. It’s been eight long years since she’s seen him, eight years that they missed after the thirteen fucked-up ones before. When she knew him then, he wasn’t young, but he must be almost eighty now, and it shows in the way he moves.

Caesar climbs out of the car. It’s an odd echo of all the times Cashmere went to his house as a Victor and a whore.

“Cashmere,” he whispers when she comes to greet him.

“Caesar.”

“Happy birthday, my dear.” 

He remembered. She wasn’t expecting him to remember.

“I’m so glad to see you.” She helps him up the walk to her house, then inside.

His eyes sweep around the room, taking in the toys, the school supplies, Finnick’s knotwork art. He glances at her hands, which she spreads to show there’s no ring. “Are you…”

“Married? No. I adopted three kids a few years ago. One of them… Coin was killing all Capitol kids aged five and up, along with the adults.”

He stiffens. “That’s…”

“Exactly what we fought against.”

“Yes.”

“Also, Finnick Odair is living with me. He lost the love of his life and needed somewhere to go, and I needed help with the kids.”

A ghost of a smile passes over Caesar’s lips. “How can anyone compete with Finnick Odair?”

“In the best uncle competition? It’s a guaranteed loss.” She deliberately puts her hand on Caesar’s shoulder, right over her words. “For my heart? That’s always been yours.” She leans in, taking a second to confirm he wants this too, then kisses him slow and sweet. He responds wonderfully.

When they’re done, he leans back. “Where are the kids now?”

“They’re at school. Finnick’s picking them up today. I wanted time to bring you home before introducing you to them and them to you. We have a few hours.” She told the kids about him -- she didn’t want to spring it on them with no warning at all. But a slow introduction is better.

His hands clutch hers. “Good.”

She gives him a tour of the house, but it’s obvious where both of them want to be. They end with her bedroom, where Caesar gently kisses her again. And then she takes him to bed.

Afterward, he twines his fingers through her curls as they lie together and recover. It’s wonderful, something she’d never truly thought she’d ever have again. But now she does. She has him, she has her kids, she has her twin. There are people who are missing -- her siblings, her friends. Her parents, who have been missing in the ways that matter since she was a child. But she has everything she needs. It took thirty-nine years to get here, but here she is.

As Cashmere pulls the covers over them, a flicker catches in the corner of her eye. It’s her soulmark. As she watches, the white that’s marked her for seven and a half long years slowly shades darker, eventually turning that pale pale pink her soulmark was the year of her first Hunger Games. It’s the same color as Caesar’s mark. The same color as much of the decor in her bedroom. The same color as the shirt she was wearing this afternoon. The color her stylist once described as her signature color.

Her favorite color. And now his as well.

She turns her arm so Caesar can see. He smiles and kisses her arm right over her mark.

**oOo**

It takes the kids a little time to warm up to Caesar, but once they do, they utterly adore him. He’s good with kids. Cashmere grins every time she sees him reading to Vulcan or learning about rocks and minerals with Venus or letting Vesta crawl all over him. He can’t run and chase them, but he can spend time with them and love them, and that’s enough.

There’s a bit of awkwardness with Finnick, but they eventually work it out. Cashmere can’t really blame either of them. Finnick’s her brother, not her lover, but he’s been living with her for a few years and has been in a lot of ways the second parent to her kids, so of course Caesar’s a little jealous of his place in her life. And Caesar hosted the interviews for the Hunger Games, which fucked Finnick up just like the rest of them. At least Caesar never bought Finnick -- that would have made it truly impossible. As far as Cashmere is aware, he only ever bought her and Gloss, and Gloss only because she asked him to.

Cashmere and Gloss go off on a hike one day once the two men have worked out their boundaries and started to become friends. She finally feels comfortable leaving them alone with the kids without her there as a buffer; besides, she needs some time with her twin.

Old habit takes them on a random path into the outskirts of District One. There’s no need to be circumspect anymore to avoid cameras and microphones; the new government doesn’t spy on people the way both President Snow and President Coin used to. But habit is hard to break, and this one isn’t important enough to try.

Cashmere lies down on their picnic blanket once they finally stop for lunch and looks up at the sky. The sun is warm for autumn, a late second summer warm spell. The sky is so close here in District One, and Cashmere loves being surrounded by the bright blue of the sky and the white wispy clouds. She always feels odd in other districts where the sky isn’t so close.

Gloss lies down next to her and rests his hands behind his head. “This is the life.”

“It really is.” They lie in silence for a while, just enjoying the day, before Cashmere asks, “How’s Lacy doing?” Lacy just announced her second pregnancy; she’s due in early spring.

“Pretty good, now that the morning sickness is mostly over. She says the second trimester’s easier.”

“That’s good. I’m glad for you guys.” She is. She’s also a little jealous. She’s almost forty, and while she has kids, they’re not ones she gave birth to. They’re not Caesar’s in the same way Alençon is Gloss’s; he wasn’t even there for their early childhood. Admittedly, neither was she, but she was there for more of it. And the thing is, they’re her kids; their adoption just means she chose them. But part of her wants a child with Caesar’s eyes or hair or nose, and at her age -- and his age -- it’s not likely.

Gloss smiles. “Yeah, we finally get that shot at normality.” He’s living a quiet life, making wedding ring shawls the way he used to for his talent, though now he sells them rather than just displaying them for the Capitol’s pleasure.

Everything is a little less broken than it used to be. Cashmere hasn’t had sex with her brother in almost ten years. For a while there she thought she would never escape that torture. But now they can just be twins instead of whatever fucked up thing the Capitol made them.

**oOo**

It’s Cashmere who proposes marriage, once Caesar’s fully a part of her family’s life. He accepts.

After that, they discuss names. Caesar’s the one who points out that her kids have had the last name Dubois since they came to One; he doesn’t want to make them change their names or make them have a different name from Cashmere. Cashmere points out that he’s been Caesar Flickerman for decades longer than she’s been Cashmere Dubois.

Caesar shakes his head. “It might be good to get away from that. Shake off the old and become something new.”

Cashmere acquiesces.

They keep the wedding quiet and relatively small, only inviting Cashmere’s siblings and the few remaining Victors and their families. Caesar doesn’t have anyone to invite; all of his friends and family are dead.

Her family isn’t large. Silk and Crystal and Brilliance and her soulmate, a young man named Arturo, come up from the south, while Radiance and Thom come in from Twelve.

There’s so few Victors left, but every single one of them comes. Cecelia from Eight brings her kids, as do Katniss and Peeta. Prim and Katniss are both pregnant, and everyone exclaims over the upcoming double cousins. Bing and Peeta are doting fathers-to-be, though Peeta spends much of the wedding chasing after nine-year-old Gale. There’s Tetra from Four and Julian from Two who must be in his nineties, their only surviving Victor after so many died in the fighting and now the senior Victor for all of Panem. Seeder from Eleven comes with Wiress from Three. There’s Lincoln from Ten and Maizie from Nine. Sparkle and Truffle and Gloss and Lacy are all there, of course, along with their families. Finnick is in charge of Cashmere’s kids for the day, which makes the kids ecstatic. Glow from Five died just last year, and Six and Seven’s last Victors were killed during the war, so those three districts are missing, as is Thirteen. But it’s a wide range from across Panem, considering how few people are at the wedding at all.

Kona performs the ceremony, including both Capitol and District One traditions. For Caesar, there’s a canopy and a unity candle; for Cashmere there’s a pale pink wedding ring shawl made by Gloss. Both One and the Capitol have handfastings, and Finnick provides a beautiful knotwork rope to bind them together. She arranged the flowers herself.

For the wedding dinner, they serve waffles with strawberries and whipped cream and eat at tables set up across Cashmere’s backyard.

At the end, they’re married -- Cashmere and Caesar Dubois. It’s beautiful, and if not perfect, as close as can be.

**oOo** ****


	25. The One Who Knows

**oOo**

Caesar’s getting older, and he’s not healthy. As much as he downplays how bad his eight years in prison were, Cashmere suspects it was worse than he admits. His hands often shake, and he has trouble standing for long periods of time. He also has nightmares.

He sometimes has trouble with stairs, so they move their bed onto the first floor into a room that was originally set up as a den, and they pay someone to come in and add a bathroom with a shower that includes a seat next to their new bedroom. What used to be Cashmere’s bedroom becomes a playroom for the kids.

The problems aren’t getting better, though, so Cashmere waits for Caesar to go outside for some afternoon sun -- he always ends up napping out there -- and calls Prim.

Prim listens to her description of the symptoms. “I hate to say this, but you’re probably right. Based on what we saw when we visited, it… wasn’t good.”

Cashmere isn’t sure she wants to know, but part of her feels like she needs to. She clutches the phone as she tries to figure out how to ask.

Prim sighs and says, “It’s up to him what he wants to tell you, Cash. I’m not going to take that from him.”

Prim is right, and Cashmere knows it. “Yeah, okay.”

There’s a moment of silence, then, “But the other thing is, he’s what, eighty?”

“Next year.”

“I know Capitol people generally lived longer than the rest of us because they had good food and medical care, but at some point it stops mattering -- the body just gives out. He’s old. Everything you’ve described except the nightmares could be attributed to age. I’m sure not all of it is, but it can’t be helping. Look, you should take him to a doctor and get him checked out, but there probably isn’t much they can do.”

“Fuck,” she whispers with feeling.

“Yeah. Fuck is definitely right.”

“Thanks for listening,” she says at last.

She can hear Prim’s grin. “What are allies for?”

**oOo**

Not long after that call, Cashmere’s attention is taken up by a different problem. A problem with her.

At the age of forty-one, when Cashmere walks into the kitchen for breakfast and has to immediately run to the bathroom when she smells the eggs, she assumes it’s a stomach flu.

A week later, when it’s still happening, she’s not so sure.

There’s a real hospital in One now, so Cashmere makes an appointment with a doctor -- they have doctors now! -- to find out what’s wrong.

“Well, Mrs. Dubois, I can tell you that you are definitely pregnant,” the doctor says after examining her test results.

“But I’m forty-one.” She hasn’t been trying to get pregnant, but she hasn’t been trying not to get pregnant either. Caesar’s lived with her for two years, and they’ve been having unprotected sex the whole time -- she thought there wasn’t really a chance anymore, given their ages. It’s a good surprise, mostly. She’s wanted a child -- Caesar’s child -- for years. But Prim’s words about Caesar’s health run through her mind. She needs to think about what she’s going to do. What if Caesar dies? Does she still want this child?

“Doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant. Now, this is your first, correct?”

Cashmere nods. “The first pregnancy, yes. I have three adopted children.”

The doctor makes a note. “Since you’ve never been pregnant before, I’m going to give you a complete workup. I’ll also be sending you home with a long list of instructions, including what to do, what not to do, and what to watch out for. Also, I’m going to strongly recommend you make regular appointments, given your advanced maternal age. And your husband may want to get tested to make sure there won’t be any genetic issues. Let’s get started.”

**oOo**

“Is everything okay, Mom?” Vulcan asks at dinner that night once Cashmere comes back after vomiting due to the smell of the fish Finnick made. “You’ve been sick a lot.”

Vesta nods. “Throwing up is un-fun.”

Cashmere laughs. “Un-fun is definitely the right word for it. And yes, everything is fine.” She manages to distract the kids from their questions, but she can tell both Caesar and Finnick are eyeing her with worry.

She wants to tell Caesar first. Once the kids are asleep and Finnick’s in his basement studio working on his knotwork art, Cashmere and Caesar head to their bedroom.

“Are you okay?” he asks solicitously. “Vulcan is right; you haven’t been doing well lately.”

“Well, apparently there’s a good reason for that. I’m pregnant, Caesar.”

He blinks. “Oh my. Are you -- I mean -- what are…” he trails off without finishing any of his thoughts.

Cashmere holds his hand. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m an old man, Cashmere, and I’m not healthy. I’ve never… you seem happy?”

“I am. I’ve wanted kids for a long time, with you if possible -- I just never thought it could happen. Between the Games and what life was like as a Victor and then the war and you in prison… I never thought it was possible. I’m forty-one and we haven’t been using birth control for two years. If it was going to happen, I expected it earlier. Not now. I’m as surprised as you are.”

He nods. “I may not be here for this child’s life.” His hand clenches around hers.

“I know.” She sighs. “I want you to be here, but I know it might not be possible. But… it’s a part of us, Caesar. And if I end up doing a lot of the parenting on my own, well, I’ve done it with three already. And at least I’ll have a child to remember you by.” As she says it, she knows it’s true. She wants this child, with or without him. With him would be better, of course. But she’ll live without if she has to.

He looks her up and down, meeting her eyes at the end. At last he nods again. “All right. If you know the risks and are okay with it, I’m here for you and the baby for as long as I can be.”

Cashmere smiles. “Good.”

**oOo**

When Cashmere tells the kids about the baby, she doesn’t get the reaction she expects. Instead of being happy, they’re upset.

After three days of the kids hiding from her, Vesta finally comes to her and asks, “Mommy, are you gonna send us back now that you have a real baby?”

_Shit_. She hadn’t even considered this reaction. She should have. “Of course not,” Cashmere says as firmly as possible. She doesn’t have to look around much to find Vulcan and Venus -- neither of them is good enough at hiding to fool someone who was trained to find tributes in the Hunger Games. But she doesn’t reveal that she knows they’re there, instead she just speaks loud enough that they’ll hear her too. “You’re my kids, Vesta. I _chose_ the three of you. And yes, I’m glad to have a baby too, but it’ll be your baby brother or sister, not a replacement.”

Vesta lets out a sob and throws herself into Cashmere’s lap. Cashmere holds and comforts her, stroking her back, and waits for Vulcan and Venus to join them. It takes a few minutes, but they eventually join the family cuddle.

“I love you all,” Cashmere says to them, “and all three of you will always be my children. Nothing will take that away from us.”

After that reassurance, the kids start being interested in the baby. Vesta loves to see how her stomach is growing, while Vulcan, at almost eleven, constantly tries to make Cashmere more comfortable. Venus is the least interested, but she likes reading schoolbooks to Cashmere’s stomach.

All of the kids are good at school. Cashmere is so incredibly proud of them all -- taken from their parents at such a young age and brought to an unfamiliar place, and yet they’re doing well. All she wants is for that to continue.

**oOo**

After she tells Caesar and her kids, Cashmere starts telling others about her pregnancy.

Gloss and Finnick are both happy but worried for her, though her impressing on them how many doctor’s appointments she already has scheduled and how closely the doctors will be watching her seems to ease at least some of the fear.

She understands why. Even in One and Four, well-off districts that they were under Snow’s rule, too many women died giving birth, especially older women. She can only imagine how bad it was in worse-off districts like Eleven or Twelve. 

Caesar, who grew up in the Capitol, doesn’t have the same fear. Instead he rejoices at every symptom of pregnancy, from the pleasant to the not-so-pleasant.

For the second time in her life, Cashmere respects her mother. How did her mother go through this _six times_? Pregnancy is not easy.

In fact, if she didn’t have Finnick, she’s not sure what she’d do. Caesar… Caesar tries. But he’s eighty years old and has never seen a pregnancy up close, let alone helped with one, and he’s still recovering from spending eight years in a Capitol jail. She’s not sure he ever _will_ recover; sometimes it seems like he’s getting worse by the day. Gloss does what he can, but he has a four-year-old, a two-year-old, and Lacy’s pregnant for the third time, which she insists will be her last. He’s run ragged already. Finnick is the one who makes up for everyone else -- he cooks and cleans and takes care of the kids when the rest of them can’t.

Cashmere’s taken a leave from her job, since she can’t do the physical work of being a gym teacher anymore. So one afternoon while the kids are at school, Cashmere helps Caesar lie down for a nap then goes down to Finnick’s basement workshop to spend some time with him. He’s working on some of his art -- knotwork was his talent after his Games, and he’s turned it into a passion and a supplemental income.

He hears her coming, even over the music he’s listening to. It’s not a surprise; every single Victor is always aware of their surroundings in a way no one else would understand. Prim and Bing have it by far the least, but even they have it. “Hey.”

Cashmere manages to pour her exhausted body into a chair. “Hey.” She glances questioningly at one of Finnick’s ropes before looking at him. She picks it up when he nods -- she needs something to do with her hands. “I wanted to say thank you. For coming here, helping me with everything. You’ve been amazing with the kids, and, well… thank you.”

Red creeps up his cheeks. “I, uh… you’re welcome?” He never could take a compliment, at least as himself rather than when he was playing Finnick Odair, Capitol Playboy.

She decides not to push right now, instead relaxing into the chair. She sits in silence for a while, running his rope through her hands and watching him work. It’s calming, similar to watching Gloss work on his wedding ring shawls. Sometimes Cashmere wishes she’d had a talent that worked as well for her, but flower arranging was never her passion. It still isn’t.

“How are you doing?” comes out of her mouth. She wasn’t expecting it. But the question has been on her mind.

He shrugs. “I’m okay.” His smile is wry and somewhat self-deprecating. “I still miss them.”

“Me too.”

Finnick doesn’t look at her as he ties knots in one of his projects. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to be fucked up forever.”

Cashmere laughs. “We all are, and you know it.”

His lips quirk upward. “Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a little before Cashmere finally says, “Look, I’m going to be blunt.” This time Finnick looks at her. “I like having you here. You’re the little brother Polish wasn’t, for me, since I missed so much of his life. I appreciate your help with the kids and the house and everything. But I want you to be happy too. So if there’s anything I can do to make you happy -- whether that’s helping you here or helping you get somewhere else or finding you a girlfriend or not bugging you -- just tell me. I don’t want you feeling like you’re stuck here.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, instead bending what looks like his full concentration on tying the knots. She knows he’s thinking, though.

“Annie crept up on me.”

Cashmere tilts her head but doesn’t say anything.

“I never expected to fall in love. Honestly I thought I was… broken.” He shrugs. “By the time I met her, it had been four and a half years of doing what the Capitol wanted, being the person they wanted. All I wanted was out.”

Boy, does she ever understand that feeling.

“But she saw me. Me, not Finnick Odair, Capitol Playboy. I didn’t expect that.” He sighs. “I don’t know if there will ever be anyone else, Cashmere. I don’t have a soulmate, and the truth is, I’m not sure I could relate to anyone but another Victor anymore anyway. And I’m not interested in any of you that way. I like your kids. I like being in One. It’s refreshing to live somewhere where… look, everyone knows my history. But the expectations here aren’t what they were in Four, what they were in the Capitol.”

Cashmere nods. District One is actually doing fairly well with its Victors. They’re still set apart and probably always will be, but less so than before the Games ended. Now they’re mostly just those people who live in the houses on the hill. Which, that isn’t just them anymore; Sparkle and Truffle and Cashmere all live in their houses, while Gloss moved into Lacy’s. The other eight houses have been taken by a variety of people, including two of Golda’s grandchildren, Sparkle’s younger brother, one of One’s Representatives to the Assembly, and a doctor who moved here from Thirteen to work at the hospital. “I’ve always liked it here.” She taps the rope she’s holding. “I don’t want you feeling like… like an unpaid nanny or something, though.”

He cracks a smile. “I love the kids, Cash, and they love me. I don’t know if I ever want kids of my own, but for now I’m good. And you’re right, you’re the older sister I never had. Can you believe we met twenty years ago?”

It takes her a minute to do the math, but he’s right: his Victory Tour was twenty years ago. “Holy fuck.”

“So yeah. You’re my sister, and the kids are my nieces and nephew. I’ll be here for the next one too, especially since I don’t know how much Caesar will be able to help you.”

He’s right about that. “Okay. But if you ever want to leave, you tell me. Because I’m not going to hold you back.”

He comes over and offers her a hug, which she gladly accepts. “Of course.”

**oOo**


	26. One Last Kiss

**oOo**

Caesar does not, in fact, recover.

Instead he keeps getting worse to the point that, when Cashmere is seven months pregnant, he has to be moved into the hospital full-time. When she asks his doctor if he’s going to get better, the doctor just shakes her head and says, “We’ll keep him comfortable.”

Her eyes burn with tears. She’s going to lose her husband, her soulmate, even as she has his child.

She manages to compose herself before entering Caesar’s hospital room, but he still knows the instant he sees her.

His eyes soften. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

Cashmere isn’t going to lie to him. She nods.

He holds out a hand and waits for her to take it. “My dear. I’ve lived a very long life, and these last few years have been wonderful. I have no regrets.”

“I’d like you to meet your child.”

He rests their joined hands on her stomach. “I’d like to meet them as well. But we both know it may not be possible.”

Cashmere leans down and kisses him on the forehead. “Stay as healthy as you can. Please.”

“I’ll do my best.”

**oOo**

Neither Finnick nor Gloss is surprised by the news. Gloss gives her a hug. Finnick just reiterates his plans to stay with her in One.

The kids… don’t take it as well. “He’s going to go away?” Vulcan asks in a voice that suddenly sounds much younger than he is. “Like Mommy and Daddy?”

Cashmere hugs him tight. “I’m sorry, but yes.”

She ends up with three children sharing her bed that night and for the rest of the week. At least they have her, and she has them.

The baby inside her continues to grow, and Caesar’s health continues to fail. He’s holding on, but barely. He wants to meet their child, and Cashmere can tell he’s put his entire soul into lasting long enough. Until, finally, he’s inches away from dying on the day the baby decides it wants out.

Labor isn’t easy, and for the third time in her life, she respects her mother. There are drugs, pharmaceuticals created in the Capitol and Thirteen, which help the pain recede into the background. None of those were available any of the six times her mother gave birth. Cashmere is glad they’re available now.

Sparkle is the one who accompanies her to the hospital. Gloss and Lacy are busy with their kids -- they have a newborn now as well as the two older kids, so they’re both exhausted. Finnick is busy with _her_ kids. Caesar’s in the hospital himself. But Sparkle, a mother and grandmother, very firmly tells Cashmere that she will be accompanying her to the hospital and she is not allowed to argue. Honestly, she doesn’t really want to.

After twelve hours, there’s a beautiful baby boy with a full head of dark hair that definitely didn’t come from her and blue eyes that definitely did.

“What are you going to name him?” the nurse asks, holding a birth certificate and a pen.

“I’d like to discuss that with my husband,” Cashmere says, holding the baby to her breast. He’s swaddled and already asleep. And adorable.

The nurse frowns. “Mr. Dubois can’t come here.”

“So take me to him.”

It almost turns into an argument. Almost, because Sparkle suggests they put Cashmere and the baby into a wheelchair for the trip. Cashmere doesn’t fight it. Whatever gets her there faster.

Caesar’s a ghost of himself, but he smiles when Cashmere and the baby arrive. “My dear.”

“Caesar.” She helps him put his arms into position to hold the baby and gently places their son in them. “It’s a boy.”

He strokes one soft cheek. “Have you picked a name?”

“I’d like to name him after you.” What she doesn’t say, but they both know, is that Caesar won’t last another week. While it isn’t District One custom to name after the living, he won’t be living for long.

Caesar laughs. “If you insist, though I suggest you don’t saddle him with the name Caesar.”

“No. I was thinking Flick.”

“Not a Capitol name.”

“Not a One name either. But it’s yours.” Or, well, part of his. She’s not naming her son Flickerman any more than she’s naming him Caesar.

He smiles again. “As you wish. Have you picked a middle name?”

She hasn’t. She’d like that to be after someone else -- in memory, much as her other children’s middle names remember Silverbelle, Johanna, and Angora. “Flick Polish Dubois.”

“Flick Polish Dubois it is.” He kisses the baby then tries to hold him out so Cashmere can take him. His arms aren’t strong enough; Cashmere has to lean over and pick the baby -- Flick -- up. 

She’s close to Caesar, her lips inches from his, and at the look in his eyes, she leans forward and kisses him, holding Flick between them. It’s slow and gentle and everything she needs.

He gives a sigh, and then he’s gone. He lived just long enough to meet his son, but now her soulmate is gone.

Even though she can’t see it in the hospital scrubs, she feels her soulmark turn gray to remember her soulmate. It will never change color again, never be pale pale pink or gold or turquoise or even orange or puce or white. But it will remain on her skin for the rest of her days.

Cashmere allows the nurses to help her back to her room. They show her how to nurse, something she’s never done before. It’s both beautiful and terrible, to have this much power over another human being. He is her son, the last remnant of her soulmate.

And she will always love them both.

**oOo**

Cashmere takes Flick home and introduces him to his older siblings. Vulcan is glad to finally have a brother, Vesta is a little jealous she’s no longer the youngest, and Venus is mostly curious about why the baby spends all his time sleeping. The house still feels strange without Caesar, but her life isn’t empty. She has her family. It’s not everything. It never will be. But it will be enough.

Finnick stands ready to assist; Cashmere doesn’t know how she would manage without him. “Hey, little bro,” she says, handing him the baby, “come meet your newest nephew.”

“Hi, Flick,” he says as he lifts the baby up. “We’re all very pleased to have you.”

**oOo**

A couple of days later, Cashmere and Flick are finally well enough to receive visitors. All of One’s Victors come -- Sparkle, Truffle, and Lacy carrying Broderie the baby while Alençon and Chantilly scramble to chase after their cousins. The three of them look at Cashmere, look at Gloss, and take Finnick and the kids outside to play.

Gloss sits next to Cashmere on the couch and accepts Flick readily. A father of three, his experience shows in how he holds the baby. “How are you holding up?”

She leans on his shoulder. “I’m… holding up.” She lets out a half-sigh half-laugh. “Thank goodness for Finnick.”

Gloss grins. “Yeah.” He strokes one finger down Flick’s dark hair.

When Flick begins to fuss, Gloss hands him back, and Cashmere takes her breast out to nurse the baby. Gloss doesn’t bother getting embarrassed -- not only is it natural, they still have all those years of nudity behind them. The sight of each other naked will never be arousing.

As she nurses, they talk of inconsequential things. Their kids, their friends, what’s going on in Panem. Things are truly getting better. The Assembly and the Prime Minister are much more receptive to the needs of the people than Snow or Coin ever were. Neither Cashmere nor Gloss wants to be involved in running the country, and they’re glad that for once they don’t have to worry about who is.

They don’t talk about Caesar, but Gloss stays close to her anyway, his hand resting on her soulmark. She knows what that means: he’s there for her if she needs it. One day, she will. But for right now, she’s managing as best she can.

Once she’s done nursing, Cashmere hands Flick to Gloss and cleans herself up, then takes Flick back and heads for the changing table in her bedroom. She’s considered moving back upstairs, now that Caesar no longer needs a room on the first floor, but it’s convenient to have Flick somewhere without stairs. So she’s staying put for now.

Gloss comes along but holds his hand up when Cashmere offers him the baby. “Nope, I’m doing enough of that with Broderie, I don’t need to change your kid too! Besides, you could use the practice.”

Cashmere lightly smacks him. “Vesta wasn’t potty-trained when I got her, you dolt. I know what I’m doing.”

“Still, not my kid, not my job.”

“Fine,” she huffs. She gets Flick undressed and starts laying out her supplies.

Gloss gently grabs one of Flick’s legs once he’s out of his clothing. “Hey. Did you see that?”

“What?”

Gloss gently turns the baby over, making sure his head is still supported. On the back of Flick’s right leg there’s a mark in green, the pale-but-bright color of new grass. It’s words. A soulmark.

Cashmere isn’t completely surprised to see he has one; all three of her older kids have words, and so does Alençon. Soulmarks have become much more common now that people can travel. Unfortunately, the words are still hard for her to read. Even though Flick can’t move much, they still dance around. Silently, she looks at her twin.

With a grin, Gloss reads them aloud.

_Oh_.

Cashmere can’t help but smile.

Flick’s words are a blessing. Her son deserves a better life than she had, and she’s pleased to know he’s going to get it.

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, just the epilogue left to go!
> 
> As a note, Flick's gender was randomized, but the name was not. :)


End file.
